Cat Eyes
by Porkchop Sandwiches
Summary: A story told in the point of view of Selina Kyle. She's depressed, lonely, and possibly regaining her sanity. So what happens when she has the chance to escape? What is it that she really wants? What exactly is she hidding behind those cat eyes of hers?
1. Selina

I feel like a child again, hiding on the bed. The tan course blanket is almost smothering me as is the stiff pillow over my head. I've flatten my body as much as humanly possible, hopping I look more like a lumpy mattress than someone underneath. I'm not new to this position, it was one I became familiar with when I was younger; when the stench of my father's cheap whiskey became too unbearable and my mother's screams just too hard to hear; when I'd wake from a nightmare and try to hide from the creepy crawlies I was positive were slithering under the bed frame; when I would playfully hide from my cat Matches, pretending to be invisible as he mewed for my attention.

But my current situation is entirely different. I shiver, feeling the gush of wind coming from the gapping hole in the wall. Despite the silence, sounds of menacing and deranged laughter echo through my ears. The same laughter and cheers that were being echoed from the cement blocks just minutes before. I had relished the sound then, it being a nice alternative from the crashing wall; the barrier that kept us loonies from the "innocent" people of Gotham.

He, The Joker as he prefers to be called, started all of this mess. Somehow he bribed one of the guards, I have no idea with what because for all I knew his only possessions were tacky purple suits and plastic spraying flowers. But somehow he got some guard who was sick of his job to smuggle in some supplies. At first glance these items looked like normal household appliances, but when put in the hands of a maniac they become a bomb. A bomb used to obliterate the wall of my cell, well most of it. He had decided on my room because it's positioned the farthest from the surveillance center and because I didn't feel like arguing with him. I haven't really felt like doing much of anything for the past few months. Poison Ivy and Harlequin would try to involve me in their newest schemes, but I'd merely shrug, saying I was bored of all that. They could escape if they liked but I really didn't see the point in it all, because I knew he'd find me. He, Batman; he always did. How would this time be any different?

Of course they would snicker, thinking I was pulling their leg and merely being lazy. Like a house cat sun bathing by a window, who seems perfectly content until the door is opened and it runs as fast as its four legs can carry it. I can't blame them, I do have a reputation. And the analogy isn't too absurd since I am Catwoman or was Catwoman. To be quite honest I almost become ill when someone calls me that, which is one of the many reasons I'm still here.

He had begged me to come, The Joker, all of them really. It was some sort of thanks for letting him hide his things in my cell, for keeping quiet, for not scratching his eyes out like I probably would have done a year ago.

"Catwoman, come on the coast is clear. Let's skedaddle before the men in blue or even worse, black, are hear."

His voice had the same effect of an overused squeaky toy, eerie and a bit annoying.

"Selena." I corrected.

"Catwoman, Selena, they're just titles and who needs titles…"

He sounded like he was starting up a rant, so I was pleased when Harlequin interrupted.

"Yeah and it feels unnatural calling ya Selena. Now get off your crazy tush and let's run." She ordered.

"No! I'm staying!" I vocalized.

Although my back was aching as I braced myself against the wall behind me. I wished so desperately to merge with the wall and disappear from the disbelief in their eyes. Even Harvey was at a loss for words as he shoved both hands in his pockets, I'm sure playing with his lucky coin in one of them. He was standing in profile with his unmarred side facing me. I always thought he looked handsome, Bruce rivaling handsome, with his blond combed hair and square jaw. I think I was starring because The Joker snapped his fingers by my ear.

"Hello! Look you can stare at Two Face all you want once we're out of here. I mean, you got a fifty-fifty chance with him." The Joker spat, literally, some saliva even reached my face.

"I'm not going with you! I won't tell them anything. There just isn't anything out there for me anymore!" I managed to say between clenched teeth.

"Fine, suit yourself." He said lightheartedly, licking his lips and pulling on his purple lapels with a cackle.

And before I know it, they leave without even a final glance; except for Harvey.

"If you change your mind, find me, or I'll find you." He says genuinely, winking at me before making his exit.

Finding nothing else to do and knowing the police would sooner or later show up, I buried myself in my bed. I can hear two sets of legs making their way down the hall. They're much too slow for anyone trying to escape but faster than cops.

"Damn it! There gone, all of them!" A voice I'm sure is Robin shouts.

"No, look closer." Batman, of course, whispers.

I can barely hear his light footsteps as he approaches me and yanks off my protective covering.

"Selena?" He asks, clearly perplexed.

I however do not respond, my teeth chattering at his mere presence.


	2. Released?

Some people are afraid of heights, spiders, clowns, drowning, heck dying in _any_ sort of fashion. Some people dread public speaking or even leaving their own home. But I, I really only have one fear and he's staring at me from across the table.

The fluorescent lights are harsh, both to my eyes and appearance. I can see from the two way mirror over his shoulder that I look like a complete mess. My long blond hair is way past bed head, full of tangles and a little debris from the wall. I try in vain to run my fingers through it in an attempt to look half way decent. Somewhere in my psyche I know he's Bruce underneath that terrifying mask. But most of me has a hard time fusing those two identities into one person. The black bat suit just holds too many bad memories of broken legs, twisted wrists, and fouled plans. The stern expression on his face isn't helping either.

"Where did they go?" He asks in his Batman voice, gruff and bone chilling.

Robin is standing next to him, trying his best to look intimidating.

"Where?" He yells, bringing his fists down on the table.

I don't budge; I can't even find my voice let alone move. I try staring at my cuffed hands, fully knowing I can break out of these whenever I want. I turn my arm slightly, seeing the hinges are cheaper than I expected.

When the silence finally catches my attention I raise my head to see Robin alone. I let out a sigh of relief which is cut short when I see him by my left side.

"If you cooperate with us we can get you out of here." He says with what I think is supposed to be a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I instinctively wince and can almost see he's insulted or hurt as he pulls his hand away. It's far from the first time he's touched me. They've "both" touched me, Batman and Bruce, and despite the fact they're the same person doesn't change the fact I don't feel comfortable around this caped crusader. I feel like I could do anything for him to move away from me, and I do, I crack.

"The Joker and Harlequin are planning on bombing the Gotham Centennial Ball." I say hoarsely.

"What about the rest?" Robin demands.

"I don't know, honestly. Ivy, Harvey, Crane, they never trusted me." I shut my eyes, bracing myself for more questions.

But upon opening them I see the room is empty. The door creaks open and a friendly looking Commissioner Gordon gives me a wary smile.

"Ms. Kyle, you've served your time, been helpful with this case, and if you pass as a sane individual there will be nothing stopping us from releasing you. Because of the unusual circumstances, including 

The Joker strangling all of Arkham's employees, and with the permission of Gotham's head judge, I will be administering the test."

He takes a hesitant seat in front of me, I'm sure apprehensive from our last encounter when I knocked him out.

He proceeds to give me a standard test, one I've failed several times. However, I seem to be passing with flying colors. Then come the ink blots, uh, I hate these things! But I manage to give appropriate answers.

I'm beginning to relax when the last card is flipped. I can't believe it, it's clearly a bat. A bat with huge spanning wings that for some reason is attracting me, and before I know it my mouth decides to say...

"Bruce, uh, Bruce Lee."

The Commissioner takes a second look and shrugs, apparently pleased. And after a short talk with some men I can only hear, he returns with an unfamiliar stamp. He flips my packed file and slams it on the inside cover, RELEASED in big green letters.

XXXXX

Twenty minutes later I'm walking away from Arkham with a paper bag in hand. They returned the things taken from me when I was committed over a year ago. It wasn't much; my cat suit, a ragged pair of jeans, red blouse, the keys to my old apartment, and a bracelet. The bracelet is silver with a nickel sized diamond framed in emerald clusters. I was surprised to see it again, sure it would have been stolen or "lost." It had been a present from Bruce, before he really knew me. I love it and couldn't get myself to sell or give it away. It's the only thing I have left from that blissful time in my life.

Speak of the devil; he pulls up right next to me in his sleek Batmobile. He stalls and rolls down the window.

"Do you want a ride?"

"No." I answer firmly.

"It's December, you'll freeze to death."

Despite his generosity I snap on him, putting a hand on the sill of the opened car window.

"I don't give a damn if I freeze to death." I say harshly; catching him glancing at my bracelet, damn it. "Just leave me alone."

Again, that look of pain in his face. Thankfully he rolls the window down and drives off; leaving me twenty-five blocks away from an apartment I'm not sure still belongs to me.

XXXXX

Blue in the face, I climb the final flight of stairs to the floor of my apartment. I walk to the correct door and try the key, surprised when I hear a hopeful click. I'm even more shocked to see my place hasn't been touched. I flip the light switch, taking in the modest décor I was able to afford with my secretary's income. Income, I should probably do something about that.

I make my way back to my bedroom seeing everything in place; my dresser, queen size bed, and closet with all of my clothes. Coming closer to my bed I see a note on the pillow.

_Don't worry about rent until March. Merry Christmas. Bruce _

Review!


	3. Get a Job

_Don't worry about rent until March. Merry Christmas. Bruce _

Great, just what I needed, a big helping of guilt atop of this already crazy day. I roll my eyes at my selfishness, honestly relived that I have one less thing to worry about. And speaking of big helping, I notice my stomach is in need of just that; too bad I don't have any food.

I riffle through my dresser, deciding on a baggy pair of pajama pants and tank top. My clothes seem to hang even loser since I lost about seven or eight pounds while at Arkham. Believe me if you had to eat their food for a year you'd lose weight too.

I walk into my kitchen and find my appliances are where I left them, even my ten year old fridge. I open its heavy pale door on a wishful fancy and see, _gasp_, actual food. Yes, fresh produce, sliced turkey, cheese, a variety of condiments, a jar of jelly, a head of lettuce, and my favorite, strawberry yogurt. Stuck on the inside door is another note; _Thought you would enjoy these, Bruce._

I grab an individual serving and slam the door shut in fright, like I just saw a ghost. Retrieving a spoon I ponder over his warm behavior. Does he want to get back together with me? Where did _that_ come from? Do _I _want to get back together with him? Like it even matters, I smack myself on the forehead. He wouldn't date me, or even be seen with me. Despite the fact that I'm a changed person, Gotham city still sees me as a nut who used to wear a cat suit and rob museums. But I have changed, I have!

It begins to rain when I notice my partially open window. With a mouth full of strawberries I go to close it, when I see a black kitten. He looks just like Matches, my childhood cat and best friend. He appears to be only a few months old and I feel a lot of those fanatic feelings rising in me again. I don't need him; I tell myself as I attempt to shut the window, I've changed.

But, looking into his pleading green eyes I have a change of heart and let him in. Things may be different, but not _that_ different.

XXXXX

After a surprisingly restful night, including a steamy dream about Bruce and an even steamier shower, I walk the streets of downtown Gotham desperately searching for a job. My black A-line skirt, white dress shirt, and black overcoat look a little dated but I manage a look of confidence as I round the corner. My hair is in a much better state; sleek and blond, with some natural waves that reach my shoulders. Even though I have rent and food covered for now, I know I need to find a steadier income than post it note charity. And having the freedom of being out of that crazy house makes me want a job even more, something to entertain my mind.

But, my desire for a new job doesn't seem to stop security from removing me from each shiny building I walk into. I usually don't even make it to the front desk before the guys in uniform are escorting me off the premise. So I've stolen from a few of them, big deal.

I curse under my breath, defeat finally discouraging me to the point of walking home. I guess Bruce will be eating turkey again for dinner. I should probably explain that Bruce is the name of my cat, for I have 

no idea what Bruce Wayne will be dinning on tonight, probably not deli sliced turkey. The thought alone amuses me as I wait for the walk sign and lean against a coin slot newspaper bin. But I quickly feel a wet stickiness on my arm and jerk back to see my sleeve covered in bright orange paint. Oh this is just…

"Beautiful." A male voice says from behind me.

Turning I see a man in a trendy blazer, t-shirt, and dark denim jeans. His black hair is cut short, at least what I can see of it under his blue beanie. He's circling me, sizing me up as he smirks with a cigarette in hand. I'm guessing he's a little younger than me, probably around twenty five, which would make him three years my junior.

"Have you done any modeling before?"

"Uh, no."

"Would you be interested in doing any modeling?"

"Is this some sort of joke?" I ask, eyeing the flashing walk sign.

"No, it's not. I was about to start a shoot when the model freaks and walks out on me. I've called over a dozen other girls, but it just so happens to be damn fashion week in Paris!" He curses the sky, scratching his head. "How the hell am I supposed to put out the new cover of Craze without a freaking model?"

"Did you say Craze?" I ask a little too shrill.

Craze is practically Gotham's version of Vogue; chock full of actors, musicians, and of course the latest craze. Not just anyone is in Craze; I can't believe this.

"I can't believe this." I say skeptically.

"Well why don't you get your pretty butt down to the studio and see if you believe me then." He orders, grabbing my paint free arm and dragging me down the sidewalk.

Six blocks later we burst through the headquarters of Craze and into an empty elevator.

"This legit enough for you?" He asks sarcastically. "Oh and by the way I'm Matt, Matt Troy, head photographer of Craze magazine. And I'm usually not this rude. It's just that we're usually done with the month's cover long before now. But the company has had a few complications, hell, a lot of complications. Including the editor's stint in rehab, which by the way, you didn't hear from me."

"Are you saying this cover will be for the December issue?"

"Yes, and don't look at me like that, I'm fully aware that it's the tenth of December. We're still planning on it being released before Christmas, though it will be tight. Like I said we had a lot of…"

"Complications?" I offer.

"I was going to say shit, but that works too."

"Why did you pick me? I'm sure there were a lot of younger girls on the street with much nicer clothes." I sigh looking over my outfit again.

"You're crazy if you don't think you're hot. I mean it, you're gorgeous. You must have been locked up somewhere for me not to notice you sooner." He compliments, lighting up a new cigarette.

I swallow and try to smile at his true words. A few people have gotten on and off on are trip up, which seems to have no end in sight.

"How long have you been in Gotham?" I question, wondering how he doesn't know of me.

"About a year; I was at Cosmo before this."

"Well, you're sure not like most people in this city."

"Cities change, people change; they get new ideas, personalities, villains, heroes, mayors. And you are about to be the _new_ face of Gotham." He declares, puffing on his cigarette as the elevator opens to the top floor.

P.S. Matt Troy is my own character, I hope you like him. If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears. Do you like the direction of the story? Please Review!


	4. Scotch

Just lovely. I plop the new issue of Craze down on my coffee table, my photographed eyes following me no matter which chair I'm sitting in. I shut my lids tight in attempt to escape its vain glance but the image is already burned in my mind.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like the picture. The picture of me hanging upside down from a large fake candy cane prop, my face glittered and powdered, my body covered from head to toe in dark green spandex. I do like the picture, it's just so superficial, and now everyone will be able to see my dangling self. I've returned to the public eye and I'm not quite sure if I really want to be back.

Uh, I push the magazine to the side and begin to riffle through my mail. In between a cheesy Macy's ad and a MasterCard sales pitch is a rectangular white envelope. The black lettering is in formal script, but the return address is what really catches my attention. I use my long red nails to rip it open, revealing a glossy Christmas Eve party invitation; an invitation to Wayne Manor.

XXXXX

I hesitantly press the glowing doorbell on the massive front entrance of Wayne Manor. I shiver out of nervousness and being genuinely cold, fresh snowflakes lightly falling. Despite the fact that I've lived in Gotham City long enough to know proper winter entire, formal parties aren't exactly my forte. Meaning my outfit while appropriate for indoors is not sufficient for the ten degree chilly wind.

I reach for the bell again when the door opens with Alfred on the other end.

"Merry Christmas Ms. Kyle, come in." Alfred greets.

I walk cautiously on my three inch stilettos, my invitation securely in my hand. Next to the coat rack is a floor length mirror which I use to check my appearance. My black strapless dress has managed to not pick up any snow and my hair is still smooth from my long preparation back at home.

"Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas Eve Alfred."I shake his hand with a polite smile.

"Ah you're absolutely right. And by the way, you're looking marvelous. Even better than you did on the magazine."

"You've seen it?" I asked surprised.

"Of course, everyone has." He says warmheartedly, then the doorbell rings again. "More guests. Ms. Kyle make yourself welcome, I think you know your way around."

He leaves with a nonthreatening wink and nod, but still, leaves me alone. I look to the direction I should head to, the ball room. But my feet decide to go against this and I find myself wandering down the hall. I trial my fingers across the wall as I note the hanging portraits and paintings, some them familiar while some of them I've never seen before. I then reach a very familiar door.

It only needs a nudge and I'm walking through; my better instincts telling me to leave but my curiosity seems to be overruling it. Inside is dim, the only light coming from the fireplace, the crackling wood 

rekindling a slew of memories. Memories I had forgotten, memories I tried to forget, and memories I still enjoy playing over and over again in my head. My nostalgia is so strong I can even see Bruce on the couch.

"Selina?"

Either I'm hallucinating again or Bruce is really here. I hold my breath not sure of which would be worse.

"Are you okay?" He asks with concern in his voice.

"Bruce." I gasp. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be here."

"Nonsense, come, sit with me." He gestures to his right side.

I take a seat next to him, clasping my hands together in an attempt to hide my anxiety. I leave an almost unnecessary distance between us, practically perching myself on the leather upholstered arm. He gives me what seems to be an amused smile.

"So, I haven't seen you in years." I blurt, though immediately realizing my error. "I mean…"

"I know what you meant. Believe me I feel like I haven't seen _myself_ in years. No matter how many times I touch my face I can't shake the fact that the mask is off. I mean even if you tried…"He grabs my arm and pulls me forward as he places my hand on his cheek.

At this proximity I can smell strong scotch on his breath, his face in an uncharacteristic gloominess.

"You can feel the skin right?" He asks desperately.

His cheek is slightly flushed and its warmth has me almost melting; it takes a great deal of restraint to not fall into a day dream.

"Are you drunk?" I hear myself ask.

"Am I crazy?"

"Am I really the one you should be asking?" I whisper.

"Just tell me if you can feel it, if you can feel the skin."

His eyes are searching for some sort of deep answer in mine, fraught for any piece of sanity. His vulnerability is liberating, an inside for me that he isn't calm or collected either. And drawing on my old self, I use his vulnerability for my own means.

I softly brush my lips to his own, tasting the expensive poison he's trying to find solace in. He doesn't respond and I pull back to see his eyes are still probing for something. But then he tightens his hold on my wrist, filling his other hand with base of my jaw. His kiss is hard, as he uses his bottom lip to further 

open my mouth. And suddenly I'm lost, my fingers running through his hair as if they had a life of their own.

But just like a dream the end rushes up to you too soon. Though the annoyance isn't my alarm clock, it's Dick Grayson.

"What the hell Bruce?" He yells in disbelief.

P.S. Wow, this has taken me forever to update. To be honest I kind of lost interest in the story, though I'm into it again. Tell me if you like it or don't, for those of you who are still interested. I love review!


	5. Unexpected Visitor

"What are you doing?" Dick's voice is heading towards hysterical along with his broad hand motions. "I can't believe you're seeing this kook again. I mean she's fresh out of the nut house!"

"You have no right to say that. I've seen you with more trash than the streets of Gotham." Bruce retorts.

"Hey, just because you don't have a social life and aren't getting any, doesn't mean you can call my girlfriends trash. And it doesn't give you the right to start sleeping with Arkham leftovers!"

"We're not sleeping with each other. I was actually just leaving, _Junior_." I correct using a nickname I know he despises.

"You're not even that much older than me, _Catwoman_." He taunts with an equally annoying insult.

I however rise above his lack of maturity and stand from the couch, when Bruce grabs my leg. His hold is firm around my calf though not strong enough to inhibit me from pulling away.

"Don't listen to him. Selina, come on, stay."He pleads, his words slurring a bit. "We used to have so much fun."

"Goodnight Bruce." I sigh, trying not to remember the kind of fun he's referring to.

Pushing past Dick with a sneer, I get out as fast as I can. The last thing I hear before I'm down the hall is the beginning of an argument between the two men starting with Dick criticizing Bruce's apparently recent drinking habit. I round the corner to the front door and almost knock Alfred down in the process.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Yes. It was a wonderful party, but it's a little too much for me." I explain not wanting to get in to it any further. "Goodnight Alfred."

"Goodnight Ms. Kyle."

He walks me outside and closes the door as I'm greeted by a new wave of crystalline ice and gusty wind. I trudge through the snow and around the slushy puddles to my newly purchased used car. The red rusty Civic definitely stands out against the sea of polished sports cars and bulky SUVs, even winter's froth not able to hide the class differences among the lot.

I rip the stubborn door open and make a steady drive out, careful not to scratch anything and of the hazardous roads.

XXXXX

I burst through my apartment, every inch of me shivering form the lack of heat in my car and the difficulty of finding a parking place. I slam the door shut, using all three locks, and kick my shoes to the side. I switch the kitchen light on and refill Bruce's feeding dish as he eagerly runs to his dinner.

I am eager only to crawl in bed and try to forget the events of the party. For I'm quite sure Bruce won't be able to be remember either. He might not even remember seeing me at all, I consider, opening my refrigerator for a night cap. Though I see the shelf that used to hold my white wine is bare, huh? I rack my brain for a logical explanation but the answer does not come from there but a sound I hear coming from my living room.

It's a metallic flicking noise, something an untrained ear could interpret as a jangling key or chain. But when one has lived on the same hall with a man who finds sport in flipping coins, the sound is very distinct.

"Looking for something?" Harvey asks, leaning against the wall behind me with said bottle in hand.

"Harvey."

"Selina." He returns my obvious greeting, his voice much calmer than my own. "Would you like some?"

"You mean would I like some of my own wine? Actually no thanks, I think I've dealt with enough of that tonight." My reference to Bruce is reasonably lost on him, but he still cracks a crooked smile.

"I found you." He boasts, his tossing quarter just adding to the soundtrack of his voice. "It wasn't that hard really; you've kept the same address."

He's sporting a new suit; half white, half black, each side representing the two edges of his personality like the two sides of his face. Purple and blue veins throb through where the skin is almost translucent, from his temple all the way past his neck. Some even stray to the beginning of his blonde hair, which he has neatly parted on the better half. The former medicinal stench of Arkham has been replaced with a strong brand of cologne, almost as flashy as his diamond cufflinks.

"Is this some sort of tag game?" I ask, reminiscing on the childhood pastime.

"Well if it was I wouldn't be doing a very good job."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't tagged you yet." He remarks with a smirk then lowers his voice to a whisper. "You're it."

Before I can even understand what he is implying he uses the soft half of his lips to kiss me. Despite his efforts the stiff scar tissue of his mouth has an unpleasant effect on mine. I jerk back and start to move when he blocks my action with an arm on either side of me, my tiled kitchen wall to my back.

"What is this?" I ask, frightened.

"What's wrong? I thought this is what you wanted."

"No, I can't."

"Is it someone else?" He asks clearly insulted. "It's Bruce isn't it?"

I don't say anything but my silence speaks for itself. He looks angry until his mood seems to soften as he drops his arms. With a pained expression he rubs his forehead and begins to walk into my living room. I follow him as he stops by the window and turns to face me.

"I understand. I miss my wife too. But unlike you I know she'll never be able to forgive me. Hell Bruce will never forgive me either. You know I wanted you even when you were with him. The only thing stopping me was how happy you two were. We used to be friends you know. Of course you know, we were practically the Three Amigos." He lets out a burst of laughter. "But one thing you act like you don't know is that you and I have more in common than you like to admit. We're freaks and even though you can hide it easier than I can, people will still judge you."

His warning runs chills down my spine as I drop my head in shame. When I lift my gaze again I see he's gone and I swiftly close and bolt the window. With my arms wrapped tightly around myself I shuffle into my room and fall into bed. I remove my dress, wishing the sick feeling in my stomach could be discarded as easily.

I pull the thick covers over my head and try to focus on something positive, hoping my dreams will follow suit.

P.S. For those still reading, I apologize for how long it took me to update. Reviews would be nice! Oh and I hope you like it Stacey


	6. Christmas

Kind of a minor detail, but if you're following the story I changed Selina's age. Oh and Robin is a little older than he should be but whatever.

* * *

Sometimes loud noises can be fun, like when you have your favorite song cranked up on the radio. It can be fun when you're at a concert and the bass seems to be competing with your natural heart beat. And it's always exciting when you're in a packed club and the throbbing music sends your adrenaline into overdrive. But the persistent ringing of my doorbell lacks any musical quality and is not amusing me in the least.

I slump to my feet and try to throw off my sleepiness along with the comforter before I emerge from my bedroom. The light coming from the partially drawn blinds in the living room seems to be telling me it's later than I think. But this unspoken message is unnecessary once I take a peek at the clock and see it's…1 pm? I rub the corners of my eyes, wondering what possessed me to sleep in so long, and on Christmas.

My body is screaming for coffee but before the rest of me can comply with this demand, my doorbell screeches again. Not really feeling in the mood to hear carols just yet, I grumpily fling the door open. However, the person in front of me is not a wide eyed caroler but Bruce Wayne. He _is_ looking pretty alert considering his state last night. He's wearing a very warm looking black overcoat which complements his slacks. The only color, other than black, I can see is some red fabric poking out around the collar. That's when I notice he seems to be intensely concentrating on the wood paneling of the hall.

"Merry Christmas." He greets with his eyes still averted.

"Hey are you okay?" I ask, confused with his out of character shyness.

"Uh…you're robe's open." He speaks timidly.

I stand there for a few seconds before his words finally sink in. And when they do I can feel my face turn the same color as his sweater. I swiftly tighten the lose piece of fabric around my waste, very grateful for lingerie. Taking a peek under my robe I almost cringe when I realize just who these were purchased by. These undergarments were actually one of my Christmas presents from Bruce. It was our last Christmas together and I had never even worn them. The holiday festivities were cut short when Bruce had a very important "business call." I was highly annoyed, frightfully considering he was having an affair. Although the truth of the matter came two days later when Catwoman and Batman had their last tango on the roof of Gotham's Museum of History. His identity was bared along with his face when I sliced his mask off with one of my sharply designed claws. _My_ identity was revealed willingly as I slid my mask off in a pathetic attempt to gain sympathy, or really a free pass.

"Selina are _you_ okay?

His question rescues me from my downward spiral of memories as I land safely back in the present.

"Do you need to sit down?" He asks with concern, placing a steady hand on my shoulder.

"No I'm fine. Do you want to come in for some coffee?"

The line comes out with an innocent sigh. The sexual implications I hope are only in _my_ hard drive along with stored incidents of using it for just that purpose.

"Sure." He says simply, walking with me to the kitchen.

However, after several minutes of rummaging, I find my cabinets to be annoyingly coffee free. Becoming more wound up by the second, I rub brow line before leaning back on the counter.

"Sorry I'm all out."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just not fully awake yet. I just got out of bed." I explain, nodding to my robe.

"It's past noon." He chuckles. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were still a teenager."

"I'm nearly twenty six!" I spit a little too harshly.

"I know. I didn't mean to bring it up, it was just a joke."

I give him a weak smile while trying to resist the urge to stew in one of our oldest arguments. He used to bring up our age difference whenever I was acting immature. It always peeved me that he was using a six year age difference to gain the upper hand in a dispute. But that wasn't the only time he brought up our differing birth dates. There was a period when Dick found it very amusing to flirt with me, right in front of Bruce. And Dick, being only a year younger than me, attractive, and a little more approachable, was a serious threat in Bruce's eyes.

"Why are you here?" I state bluntly.

"I wanted to invite you over to the mansion for lunch. I mean its Christmas and I didn't want you to be alone."

"Yeah, that would be nice. Just let me get dressed. You can wait on the couch."

I calmly stroll to my bedroom only to close the door and frantically search for something to wear.

XXXXX

The temperature outside is painfully cold. Snow covers every inch of ground while a few new flakes flutter around us. I follow Bruce deep into the parking lot before we completely pass the last row of cars and turn the corner. My bright red trench coat may be lined with wool, but the biting wind stings my exposed face.

"Are we _walking_ all the way to your house?" I yell over the blustery weather.

"Shh." He instructs as he pulls me into a shadowy nook.

Before I can even think to move I find myself snug inside the Batmobile. The engine is already on as is the toasty heat and a Madri Gras-like display of flashing buttons. He slowly pulls the car out of its hiding place and down the street.

"This is the only thing with enough traction for this kind of snow." He explains.

Looking around I notice were the only car on the road. But soon were far from the tall buildings of Gotham as we near the mansion. The Batmobile effortlessly glides through the somewhat ominous forest, the trees so thick they blot out a good deal of sunshine. The quietness of the engine is soothing but also emphasizes the lack of conversation.

"So all of this is yours?" I decide to ask, though I already know the answer.

He nods and begins to say something when a louder noise shifts our attention. The crash becomes even more frightening when not one, but two trees, fall just inches away from the front of the hood. Bruce slams on brakes as he instinctively protects me with his arm. I breathe a sigh of relief when we are safely in a stopping position; the glass of the windshield only scratched.

"We're stuck." Bruce angrily announces.

"Doesn't this thing come with wings or jumping capabilities or _something_?"

"Alfred, I'm going to need some help." Bruce speaks into his phone.

He proceeds to give Alfred our location and flips his cell shut. Turning to me he appears to stifle a smirk as he informs me I have the wrong idea about the Batmobile. He also tells me Alfred won't be here to get us out for another forty five minutes.

"Great, what are we going to do until then?" I remark sarcastically.

He presses one of the flickering buttons as a fifteen inch monitor is displayed. Handing me a tiny remote, he pats the middle seat between us. I hesitantly scoot over and realize how much clearer the image is from this angle. After flipping through a couple of channels, I decide on an old favorite, A Charlie Brown Christmas. The familiar jazz soundtrack is very calming; in fact I begin to feel my eyelids droop. The music, heat, and Bruce's shoulder have a Nyquil effect on me as the forest seems to become even darker.

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Reviews make me warm and toasty. So please review :)


	7. Television and Blood

Warning: This chapter is a bit creepy. Do not read alone. Hehe, just kidding. But seriously it's a little weird, okay a lot of weird. But I promise it will be explained. Read on :)

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The stray beams of light caste an eerie shadow on the passenger side of the Batmobile. A strange wind begins to stir the ice covered branches of the looming trees, the noise sounding like a ghostly chorus. Snow is falling in a steady shower as it blankets the car's windows. When I can only see a layer of white I turn my attention back to the monitor. The once comforting program has been replaced with the buzz of black and white static. I attempt to find a clear station but discover they're all raining this digital snow. I think to ask Bruce for some advice when an image begins to appear on the screen.

At first it's just a purple blot, then some red, white, a little green, and then…a face. His smile is in an inhumanly state, his grin so wide the stitches look as if they're going to snap open. He eyes hold a dangerous apathy while his tousled green hair appears to be begging for attention. Slowly he begins to make a fist, brings it to his mouth, and lets out a small cough. How he looks sinister doing something so mundane, I don't know? I _can _however feel myself trembling.

"Heeeelllllooooo Catwoman! I thought I'd find you here. You know, stuck somewhere and by the side of that _schmuck_. Please, don't get up I can see you fine from here." He speaks through the screen.

"W…w…what?" I stammer.

"Hey relax. Reeeeelaaaaax." He instructs as he imitates deep breathing. "Don't worry I'm just here because I heard a little bird, no a little kitty, inform me _you_…well…let the cat out of the bag on my New Year's plan. The New Years plan involving Gotham's Centennial and a couple explosives."

As he speaks the last word his eyes become disturbingly brighter. He throws his arms in the air while making some exploding noises, finally cracking a grin.

"And no, you didn't tell a feline friend or the mail man or even the President. No, you told old Batty, or should I say_ Bruce_?"

My breath hitches in my throat as my brain swarms with worst possible scenarios. _Did I tell him about Bruce in some drug induced state at Arkham? Do I have a tracking devise on my body that led him here, to see Bruce in the car? Does anyone else know?_

"All of the above." He answers my mental questions. "Everyone at Arkham knows, is that a problem?"

"He…could, he could get hurt." I mumble, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

"Oh you mean like someone breaking into your "safe" Batmobile and slitting his throat? Because that would be a little unnecessary considering one of us is already inside."

I freeze in place, not daring to even turn my head.

"Don't bother looking; I'm staring right at her. Here I'll give you a look-see." He giggles as he reveals an image of my own face.

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, you're crazy. You're one of us. I don't have to lift a finger because, whether you know it or not, you'll do a fine job hurting him yourself. No matter how normal you feel you'll never be able to shed…well…_YOU!" _He cackles, giving "you" the same effect as "boo". "Oh, if you could only see the petrified look on your face. You might find his a little more enlightening…"

He vanishes in mid-word as the screen completely shuts off. The lack of light from the television soon brings some over head illumination to my attention. _Bruce must have this thing rigged with dozens of backup systems,_ I sigh with relief. But even thinking his name reminds me of Joker's instructions and through my fear I turn to Bruce.

Suddenly my fear transforms into sheer panic as I see his bleeding form. His face is unnaturally calm as his eyes are closed; the injury farther down only present with a small red smudge. Three long gashes lie vertically on his chest, his clothing slashed along with his skin. When I bend forward in inspection of a heartbeat I see a…a…lone claw tangled in the fabric of his overcoat...one of _my_ claws. Just inches away from him I can tell the lacerations are deep. The flowing red juices are beginning to soak the seat as they drip down to the floor. _Juices? What an odd word to use for such tender… moist… luscious…salty cuts._ A primal feline urge begins to flood my senses, my mouth tingling in anticipation. I fondly murmur his name before bringing my lips to his wounded flesh.

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Cliffhanger! I'm sorry I promise there will be a new chapter soon. PLEASE Review!


	8. Lunch?

Taking another long breath, I decide to kiss the side of his neck. He's still warm, though the sensation against my lips feels more like wool than skin. The aroma coming from him is considerably similar to ham and…champagne; a very interesting sent.

Looking back down at his chest, I gingerly stick out the tip of my tongue and close my eyes. But before my licking can even commence, my forehead is assaulted by a foreign wet object. The weight of it pushes out any possibility of spilled blood or even a body part. As I reopen my eyes, I'm shocked to find a certain face a little too close to mine. One of his hands is on my forearm while the other seems to be hovering above me.

"Get off!" I demand, swiping Dick's arm away.

"Fine, do it yourself!" He huffs, while scooting a safe distance from me on the couch.

_Couch?_ I sit up a little to find myself back in the study of Wayne Manor. It's just as I left it the day prior. The fire is just as relaxing as it quietly roars in its sturdy hearth. It could _have been_ the same day if it weren't for the jolly Christmas music floating in the room from another area of the house. And of course there's _Dick_ sitting with me instead of Bruce.

"Do what myself?" I ask of his previous complaint.

That's when I feel small drops of water trickle down my cheeks and the weight on my forehead. Lifting my hand I remove the lump to discover it's a damp washcloth; BW in gold cursive, monogrammed on the white fabric.

"When Bruce took you inside, you were still asleep. He thought you looked a little pail so he asked me to use that cold compress. But I knew kitties don't like the water." He chides.

"Where is Bruce?"

"Right here." Bruce announces as he enters the room. "Alfred needed a little help in the kitchen. Have you been up long?"

I attempt to answer him when Dick cuts me off…

"No, it was just a catnap."

"Dick you're _hilarious_." Bruce sarcastically states. "Now how about you go fly off somewhere and chirp with that air head date of yours."

"At least _my_ girlfriend hasn't tried to kill me." He remarks snidely, bumping by Bruce before storming off.

Behind him he leaves an overbearing awkward silence. Bruce shifts his position with his left leg in front, as he becomes quite fascinated with his red sweater. His sweater has me questioning where _my_ coat is because I'm no longer wearing it. I run my palm along the cashmere sleeve of my green blouse, and then begin to fidget with one of its oversized buttons down the front.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

"For what?" He asks with a curious smile.

"For everything." I respond even quieter, thinking of how long the list is.

_I'm sorry for not telling you I was a thief. For making excuses when you'd ask about my numerous feline roommates. For wedging a wider gap in your friendship with Harvey. For standing you up on countless dates, claiming I was busy at work. For hiding some of my stolen jewels in the Manor. For stealing from you. For thinking that even once you would cheat on me. For never sleeping with you, in your arms, after we "slept" together. For trying to kill your other half. For making my problem your burden. For never really knowing when to take my mask off._

But I don't say these things; I don't say anything at all. Instead I tentatively rise from the couch, walking as close to him as physically possible. And I cautiously raise my arms to rest on his shoulders as I give him a hug. I can feel him uncomfortably freeze but I know why. I've never been one for hugging and am very picky about when I like to be touched at all. It often bewildered him for me to be ornery under his touch one minute and then another, pleading for affection.

With my head on his upper chest, which is impossible to do otherwise with his height, I can hear him holding his breath. Coming to the conclusion that I'm not going to get a response out of him, I begin to retreat. But as I back away, he pulls me in by my waist, strengthening our embrace. Now _I'm_ the one who can't breathe, but when I do I catch the familiar smell of ham.

"I forgive you." He exhales warmly in my ear.

"Lunch is served." Alfred states before he's even opened the door.

He then gives Bruce a knowing look before leaving as swiftly as he entered. Bruce's hold last for a few more fleeting seconds before he breaks away. But I don't feel nearly as empty when he places his hand on my lower back.

"Lunch?" He questions.

I nod as he leads me out of the room and down the hall.

XXXXX

_Lunch? More like feast, _I decide, looking over the heaping trays of food sprawling down the table. The table itself is a sight to see as its length looks a little ridiculous for the four of us eating. The four being Bruce, Dick, me, and a bottle blonde who I assume is Dick's squeeze.

"Selina this is Sherry, Sherry Selina." Bruce exchanges.

"Oh, like a drink?" I ask, indicating her name.

"No thanks, I already have one." She says, taking a sip of her champagne.

I manage to bit my tongue as I take a seat across from Bruce, next to this oblivious woman. While I have nothing against blondes, being one myself, I am often annoyed when they annoyingly fit into their stereotype like a Barbie in her box. Her nails look as if they've been freshly manicured, their bright red color matching perfectly with the hue of her cocktail dress. She is beautiful, reminding me of a pre-breakdown Britney Spears. I think I can even see a wad of bubble gum in her mouth.

"You look like totally familiar." Sherry remarks with a thin, furrowed brow. "Are you in my yoga class? Pilates? D.A.R? Pole dancing class?"

I shake my head and she continues her list, assuring her I've never even heard of Ooh La La Beauty Parlor or of the night club, Simply Sexy.

"She was on the cover of_ Craze_." Bruce offers, relieving everyone's ears and waning attention spans.

"OMG! That is so it!" She exclaims. "Wow, how long have you been a model?"

"Actually it's been a pretty recent career change. It's been a pretty drastic career change as well."

"Really? So like modeling is completely different from what you were doing before?"

"Yes." I reply, taking my first bite of turkey.

"Do you like miss anything from your old job?"

"The competition, always kept me on the edge." I remark with a smirk.

Bruce hides his smile behind his glass while Dick openly rolls his eyes. She however contently smiles, pleased with the surface, as she picks at the food on her plate.

"What do you do?" I ask.

"I'm a waitress at Bunny's. I get to wear rabbit ears and a cute little tail." She gushes.

Just as my mind begins to wonder just what else her work attire includes, or doesn't, Alfred quickly appears at the foot of the table.

"Master Bruce there is an urgent business mature to attend to. Master Grayson is needed as well." He says very trained and professionally.

The two men place their green cloth napkins by their plates before hurrying out of sight. Dick only turns around to hold up his hand in the direction of Sherry and blows her a kiss.

"Isn't he so sweet? Aw, both of our boys so polite, going out to make more money."

"Bruce and I aren't dating." I blurt a little too quickly.

"He could have fooled me from the way he was like looking at you." She claims nonchalantly.

How _she_ was able to supposedly pick that out, I don't know. Especially considering everything else that went over her head, lost in her stringy dyed hair.

"I like know how to spot chemistry. And he was looking at you like your shirt was undone or something. I'd get a piece of that if I were you." she advices. "Hey Butler, can I get some

more champagne?"

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Hope you guys liked it! By the way I wasn't trying to insult Brtiney Spears in any way, well, maybe a little. Oh and if anyone can tell me what you're supposed to do when you hit your 15 document mark, please tell me. And please review!


	9. Paperwork

"So how did you and Dick meet?"

Sherry and I have now retreated to the library, a fitting place for a woman who claims she hasn't read a book since high school. Bruce's collection fills their shelves to the brim as the walls are almost impossible to see behind the expansive shelves. The leather-bound volumes nestle against each other, their intimacy making me jealousy.

"He like was dating my friend Coco at the time but she was also dating this other guy. Like one time I was dancing at this club, Simply Sexy, and she introduced us. Then she told me to like keep him "busy" so she could "hang out" with Binky." She retells with grand air quotes. "He is like a really good dancer! OMG, I couldn't believe how hot he was and then he gave me a ride on his motorcycle. Then "one thing" led to "another" and we've have like been dating for over _three months_! I can hear the chaching…I mean the ding of wedding bells already."

She ends her prediction with a dreamy gaze, tilting her head a little before taking a long swig of her brandy. She's on her third, not counting the two glasses of champagne she had at dinner. That's all she did at the table, her turkey only taunted with her fork. She explained to Alfred she was on a no food diet when he began clearing the table. He merely smiled politely before conveniently disappearing in the kitchen, leaving me with a tipsy Sherry.

"When did you like meet Bruce?" She asks in mid-gulp.

"We actually met at the zoo, near the tiger exhibit. I was taking pictures and my lens saw him before I did. I was alone and so was he. So we decided to walk around together, and then he asked for my number." I recount.

"When was that?"

"About three years ago."

"_Three years ago_! And you still don't have a rock on your finger?" She gasps.

"We were friends for a good part of the first year and when we did begin to date it was hard to with our schedules conflicting. We dated a solid year before we broke up and I…moved. I've been back for a little over a month. But we're just friends now." I clarify, surprised by my own openness.

"Right "_just friends_"; sure." She giggles, almost falling out of her seat. "I love these things, don't you?"

She runs her hands down the back of the large leather chair. She's eyeing it hungrily, her features holding an appetite that definitely wasn't present at lunch. I have to admit the soft material does feel nice against my arms, though the chocolate coloring isn't getting _me_ as riled up.

Although, she is now quite concerned with the amount of beverage, or lack of, in her cup. She clinks the few ice cubes around, clearly frowning.

"Hey, do you like wanna do some blow?" She asks casually, digging through her small handbag.

But before my "Just Say No" voice can even kick in, let alone my been there done that one, Alfred materializes at my side. He clears his throat to signal an interruption as he refills Sherry's glass. But under his professional demeanor I can tell he looks worried.

"Miss Kyle, Master Bruce requests your presence. He needs a second look at some paperwork." He instructs, then turns to Sherry. "Master Grayson will be with you shortly."

Sherry gives me an exaggerated wink before I leave. Further down the hall, Alfred guides me away from Bruce's office and towards an unfamiliar direction. His pace quickens until he reaches the piano, playing a simple shrill tune. In the same note, a hidden entrance emerges. It's incredibly dark, the chilling breeze making it even less inviting.

Alfred removes a small flashlight from his pocket and leads the way. The path begins to widen as some overhead lights come into view. As we become closer I can see a large computer cluttered with buttons on a large control panel. There also seems to be some various workout equipment, furniture, and…bats at every corner. Looking back at the computer, I can vaguely see Bruce's figure sitting in the chair in front of it.

"Miss Kyle." He whispers, coming to a halt. "Be careful when you approach him. He can be a bit…testy about these things."

"I thought _he_ was the one who asked me to come down here. Alfred?"

I turn around to find he's mysteriously vanished. _I swear, sometimes I think he'd make a better Robin. He would look a little silly in the costume. _I push these thoughts out of mind as I tip-toe towards him. But this isn't very effective in boots, not to mention he's always had bat like senses. And reasonably hearing, he turns the massive chair to face me.

From the waist down he's still geared up, but his rubber mask and torso lay haphazardly at his feet. His face is faintly smeared with what looks like grease. His eyes are cast downward, and that's when I notice the full picture. Right below his right pectoral is a horizontal laceration, which he is attempting to sew up. Attempting is really what he's doing, his large…muscles, I'm sure making it a little difficult to see.

"This is my kind of paperwork."

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Yay, another chapter up. Hope you guys liked it. The Dark Knight's out! Anyway, REVIEW please!


	10. Sew me a Heart

"Did Alfred send you down here?" Bruce asks, his eyes still glued to the task at hand.

"Yes, he thought my secretarial experience might be helpful." I remark.

But the joke on my prior assumptions isn't appreciated by _him_. He merely grunts; I'm not sure if out of annoyance or pain. From the amount of blood trickling down his side I would guess the latter. His otherwise pristine, rippled chest also sports some deep bruises and faded scratches. This new cut is positioned across his ribcage at a very awkward angle, testing his normally savvy first aid skills.

Remembering Alfred's advice, I slowly move forward as to not startle him.

"Selina, I don't need any help." He claims.

He's always been a very do-it-yourself kind of guy; hence his night job.

"Bruce, I've opened my share of these on you. How about I close one of them up for a change?" I offer humorously. "Plus, I had to do work on myself when I was…well, you know."

My words seem to have little influence on him as he stubbornly continues. To be honest, he's making a mess. I can tell he's pricked his fingers a time or two as I can see the evidence of some faint crimson highlights in his otherwise brown hair. One of his more attractive quirks is to run his fingers through his hair when he's stressed, or in pain, I suppose. I am almost _positive_ he's going to need to replace this chair. The red liquid coming from him has my dream rolling in my mind like an old film reel, and it takes a great deal of resistance to keep myself from licking my lips. Instead, I reach out my hand and place it on top of the one at work.

"Bruce, please let me help you." I whisper.

For the first time he looks up at me and I can see his eyes sigh before _he_ actually does. He drops his arms by his side as I catch the needle between two expert fingertips. And that's when I realize only the battle has been won.

"Do you happen to have another chair down here? Because working at this slant won't be very effective."

"I can lean this one back some. Or you could just let me finish if this is too much for you." He taunts, tilting his seat a few inches.

"Oh, I think I can mange." I declare before making a bold yet necessary move.

I settle myself down on his lap, my left knee slightly between his as I steady myself with a free hand on his shoulder. His skin feels surprisingly slick, moisture coating him as if he had just finished a hot bath. Speaking of hot, the once coolness of the cave is suddenly starting to warm up, especially in my cheeks.

Taking a quick glance for a sign of emotion on _his_ face, I find he doesn't seem bothered at all. I shouldn't be surprised considering I was always more comfortable expressing intimacy in overtly sexual ways. It was a rare occasion when I'd tone down my rating to PG with a hug or small kiss. While it held its advantages it also made public displays of affection nearly nonexistent. Something about hugging in general made my skin crawl, let alone doing it in front of faceless bystanders. Because of this our physical interactions usually boiled down to one thing…well, in different variations. However, currently I couldn't feel any calmer. I breathe out some formerly concerning tension as I allow myself to brace more of my weight against him.

"Are you waiting for a formal invitation?"

"No." I say, returning to reality. "But did I mention I haven't done this in a while?"

"Should I be concerned?"

"I'd brace myself if I were you." I suggest, positioning the needle closer to him.

He looks around as I notice just how ill-equipped his chair is. There are no arm rests and nothing anywhere close to clamp on to. But, not wanting any more blood to be shed, I abruptly start. As I do so my hand seems to find a rhythm of its own. The first stitch I accomplish is beautiful, straight, and tight. It's amazing how many things truly are like riding a bike. I haven't even picked up a needle in over a year, let alone sewn any flesh back together. _This is much easier than I remember._

"Selina." He groans, quickly seizing my arm.

Paying closer attention, I see I've overdone it a little with a few…extra stitches. Apparently some of his good skin didn't quite remain untouched by my attempted medical procedure. Although, I have to admit I did a fine job…until I got to the end. And with the end comes my next step in the process as I tie off the thread. Assuming he doesn't have a spare pair of scissors lying around, I choose to gently nip the end with my teeth as I free the needle.

"All done." I state calmly.

"Thank you." He sighs, removing his death grip from my limp.

I twinge, the lack of pressure permitting the pain I'd been ignoring to sear into my nerves. _That's going to leave a mark. _

XXXXX

"So, what do you want to watch?" I ask, flipping through channels.

"Nothing involving crocodiles."

I smirk, his request completely reasonable considering the night he's had. After a shower and change back into his clothes from earlier in the day, he retold the ordeal. He and Robin, it's so cute he refers him as Robin when he's in costume, heard a disturbance at a small time bank in downtown Gotham. It only took some minor detective work to spot the culprit's presence. But, that didn't exactly prepare them for when Killer Croc decided to make Bruce his new toy antelope. Only after some serious team work were they able to escape as Killer Croc managed to do so as well.

"Go back to that last one." Bruce says to my right.

His arm is leisurely draped over the back of the small, two person couch. Its green fabric seems very in season and also happens to match the color of my sweater. The rest of the room isn't quite as decorated. We're now in Bruce's old playroom which has been moderately updated as a television room. His old toys are poking from their chest and the books his mother use to read to him still lay stacked on an old rocking chair by the window. I'm very grateful to be without Dick and Sherry who haven't been spotted since he and the boy wonder returned, though I have a pretty good idea of what they're doing.

"How the Grinch Stole Christmas?" I ask, following his suggestion. "How appropriate."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know…I kind of feel like a Grinch myself." I confess.

"Why, have you been dressing as Santa lately and wearing green fur?"

"No. But I didn't get you anything for Christmas." I sigh.

"Yes you did. You're here."

His tenderness gives me an unfamiliar warmth through my body. A feeling that is only heightened when he drops his arm to my shoulder and softly kisses my cheek. His lips linger against my skin, my heart feeling as if it _really is_ growing.

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Merry Christmas. Review if you must ;)


	11. Old Black Cats

We pull into the parking lot, the now thin layer of snow seeming to melt underneath the pressure of the tires. He slides up to the building of my apartment, the Lamborghini engine rumbling even at a stall. I glance at the entrance, in no way ready to actually move. The heat and the warmed leather seats aren't the only thing stalling _me _in the car. I glance to my side to be met with an expectant look, him obviously waiting for me to get out, behind his polite smile.

"Tonight was fun." I say, referring to our second third date.

It's been four quick days since our cozy Christmas television watching. Three out of four of those evenings I've spent with Bruce. We've been to dinner, a silent movie, the park, and on the whole away from too many people and the mansion. Every night he takes me home and every night I linger a little bit longer, as I fiddle with my bracelet and try to give him significant glances. But every time he chastely kisses me before saying goodnight. I never was very successful with subtlety.

"I had a really good time too." He responds genuinely.

"Do you want to come up?" I ask, unnecessarily pointing in said direction.

He follows my finger as if I were literally asking him if he wanted to go on the roof with me. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"I'm kind of busy." He halfheartedly mumbles. "You know…with patrol."

"You could leave after." I blurt, feeling trampy the minute it leaves my mouth. "I mean you wouldn't have to spend the night or anything."

"I've never spent the night, neither have you." He seems to say more to the steering wheel than to me. "Maybe some other time."

"Maybe." I repeat in a whisper, the edges of the word piercing me like a batarang. "Are you afraid of me? Mad at me? Bored of me?"

"No. Selina, I just don't think this would be the best thing for our relationship right now."

"So you're saying you don't want to?"

"No." He tiredly chuckles, palming the stress wrinkles on his forehead. "I think we need some more time. I need some more time."

His last fraise is delivered delicately, but still manages to sting. It takes all my strength not to scream in rage. No, not scream at him, but my own mistakes, my own regrets, my own doings. My old black cat is on the prowl; switching its tale in his untrusting eyes.

It also requires an Arkham dose of numbness to restrain the emotions I want to display on my face. I don't understand how he could have seemed so welcoming before? I apologized, and he said he forgave me. _He_ was the one who had his hands all over me on Christmas Eve. Where was that Bruce? I guess still stashed in his liquor cabinet.

"Goodnight." I say before he can.

But before _I_ can get step out, he pulls me back in. I rear my arm away in pain, the bruise he unintentionally left smarting in his grasp.

"It's just sore." I explain when he looks worried. "But I should really be going."

"Selina I did _not_ want this date to end like this." He sighs, wincing a little before he continues. "I actually have a favor to ask you."

I allow an awkward silence, not feeling in the mood to respond to his leading statement.

"The Centennial Ball. I really need a date. I can see you're not exactly smitten with me at the moment, but it would be helpful to go with someone who doesn't mind me disappearing when who know who shows up. Not to mention someone who doesn't go on about country clubs or her shoes. Plus I don't really want to take anyone else."

Despite myself I'm melting at a charm I should be more than accustomed to. It's not his phony playboy charisma, no for me that would be easier to discard than a _Playboy_. Instead he pulls out the big guns, even though he doesn't use _guns. _I mean he uses what he knows is my weakness; his gentle, sincere voice oozing vulnerability from his grin. He's a schoolboy again, probably a happier one than from his real childhood.

"I'll go." I submit, a little too dreamily. "When is it again?"

My mind has wandered from logic to the chaotic suppressed feelings of what the Joker does to me. I may have seen some pretty scary sights in my time, but a lifetime fear of clowns shoots him to the top of the list. I can hear Gordon even now as he explained to Batman and the police force that no matter what he tried to do the Ball couldn't be cancelled. Too much money had gone into this, money Gotham needed. And the people responsible wouldn't hear of cancelling such a gala, even with the threat of a deranged "Bobo" on the loose. Just tighten security, they repeated like a yuppie mantra.

"The Centennial?" He questions, amused. "New Years Eve."

That's two days from now! But what am I going to wear?

XXXXX

"Believe me you look great." He assures me for the fifth time. "Can we please go in already?"

"Hey, you're not the one who everyone's going to be staring at." I huff; he raises his eyebrows as to protest. "Well for the same reason that is. I haven't gone to one of these things, well, since with you."

"But you're not just Catwoman Selina Kyle; you're Craze girl Selena Kyle." He practically announces to the two bored valleys. "Just look at what you're wearing."

I roll my eyes before following his suggestion. I'm wearing a red floor length, backless gown, two Dorothy worthy sequenced pumps hiding underneath the fabric of my dress. I wish I could do the same.

"It's just a dress." I mumble unconvincingly.

"Selina please." He begs.

Two middle aged women saunter by us, their turned up noses about as stiff as their shoulder pads. In spite of my jumpy nerves, I can still hear one of them whisper "kook", and I've suddenly gained a new load of dread. I can't do this.

"Bruce I can't do this. I really can't face those people. I can't." I squeak pathetically.

"It won't be that bad. Alfred's here, Sherry's here, and…I'm here of course."

I'm grateful he refrained from adding Dick to that list. He was the last person I wanted to see…well, aside from Mr. Jolly. Uh, I really don't want to go in there. I feel sick. I clutch my stomach, bracing my back against the wall of the building. I close my eyes for a second until I hear his voice very close to me.

"Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"

My eyes open despite myself, and a smirk forms its way on my lips. He gives me a hesitant look, his mouth slightly parting as if wanting to say something, but shutting again.

"Fine. If you walk in there with me _right now_ and be the ladylike, model, arm candy Selina I know you hate to be, a Selina that doesn't hit anyone, roll her eyes, or make any snide remarks…well…you'll have a personal invitation to Wayne Manor tonight."

I prod him with my eyes, not at all pleased with that discreet wording. He's a business man, loop holes are like doorways to him.

"You can come back to my place." He tries again.

I'm still not satisfied.

"We'll screw like its 1999. Is that what you want to hear?"

"It at least gives me a visual."

"Deal then?" He asks, extending his hand.

I think it over for a second. I feel a little cheap using sex as a bargaining chip. But like I said before, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Deal." I confirm, attempting to shake his hand.

Instead he lifts it to his face, planting a firm kiss on my knuckles. That better be binding.

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Yay an update! *looks around feeling guilty* I'm so sorry for the long wait. I'll try to get the next chapter done, at the latest, two weeks from now. Who knows, my classes were cancelled tomorrow so I may do it then. Anyway I would greatly appreciate reviews. Beachgal's definitely was a key reason for this update. Just saying. I like the encouragement!


	12. Like You Didn’t Expect This!

The room sparkles. From the jeweled toned dresses to the enormous crystal chandelier to the New York styled New Year's glittering ball, everything seems to be shinning with money. Even the utensils seem to proudly twinkle next to their polished dinnerware companions.

But just as gaudy are the looks I meet at every corner; the ones I can't see burning holes in the back of my neck. Some of them are excusable, like when we ran into Mrs. Perkins who gave Bruce a curt nod before quickly retreating. The last time I attended anything to this magnitude, I had resorted to pick pocketing as a way to fight boredom. Her pearl necklace found its way into my collection. I hope we're not sitting near her.

"Mrs. McNamara, Ms. Kyle." I hear Bruce announce by my side.

I extend my arm as to shake her hand, but instead of accepting, she acts as if I have flees. Scrunching her face in a very unattractive manner, she takes a step backwards with a noise of disgust. She places her hand on a large hip.

"I thought you were still in Arkham with the rest of…_those_ people." She says in a nasally voice, as if she were holding her breath.

And without another word she turns on her heel and walks the other way. I simply sigh for not the first nor do I assume the last time of the night. Bruce sighs as well as he links arms with me.

"Can we just sit down?" I ask, feeling I've had enough lovely small talk.

He doesn't answer, but merely guides me through the crowd of chattering people. And after a dozen gasps, ten snorts, and one possible me-ow, we make it to our seats. Bruce pulls mine out for me, and even being off my feet for a minute seems to improve my mood.

"Bruce, Selina." Dick greets, his arm wrapped around an unfamiliar female.

"Hey Dick." I say with sticky cheeriness. "Where's Sherry?"

"She couldn't make it. This is Brandy." He indicates the trim, tan blonde next to him.

It takes a great deal of resistance to not make a joke about her alcoholic name. I at least want to attempt to be civil. Plus this one looks _slightly_ less plastic than Sherry.

"You never told me you had such a cute older brother!" Brandy exclaims to Dick.

"Bruce and I are…friends." Dick corrects, giving Bruce an odd look.

"Well your friend sure is a stud." She states, eyeing my date like a T-bone.

"Selina would you like to dance?" Dick, unfortunately, asks me.

"What do you think?" I spit, my veneer cracking like an old tea cup. "I would rather--"

"Would you rather I make a scene?" He threatens. "Because if I even insinuate I'm…I don't know, missing my pocket watch, I could have this whole room on your back."

He finishes off his threat with a smirk, his smugness almost suffocating me. He whips his adolescent styled bangs from his forehead. And I just now notice how similar the coloring is to Bruce's; they could pass for brothers. They already bicker and, like a classic younger sibling, Dick hardly ever listens to Bruce. He's stubborn, rash, yet at times extremely caring. _This_ is not one of those times.

"Selina." Bruce says as if I should go along.

"What? This was _not_ part of the agreement."

He seems to take this into consideration before leaning forward. Gently lifting a strand of my hair, he dips down so close his mouth is nearly on my ear. He takes a breath before whispering something that makes _me_ even blush. The stakes have just been raised.

"I'd love to dance with you." I gush.

He takes my answer at face value, not even looking at Bruce as he grabs my hand and leads me out to the dance floor. Glancing back, I can see Bruce, who is now surrounded by a swarm of women. He shoots me an exasperated look before concealing it with a gentleman like air. I can hear their giggles grow fainter as he navigates us farther through the crowd of dancing guests.

"So," He asks, spinning me around in a waltz position. "Having fun?"

"Loads."

"The Joker's supposed to show up." He comments casually. "Word on the street is Harley Quinn will too."

"Not surprising, those two were even inseparable when we were in…" I trail off, not wanting to finish.

"The loony bin, nut house, jail for crazy people, the--"

"That's enough." I warn with sufficient spite.

With the luxury of having shut him up, I gaze around the room and see quite a few people staring back. What's unusual is their expressions have softened into more of a curiosity or…amusement? Some women seem to be straining to see past their dates shoulders to watch us.

"We do make a beautiful couple." He states, apparently aware of my puzzled observation. "This dress looks amazing on you."

He lowers his voice a few notches, placing a hand on my bare back, before murmuring, "I'd bet you look even better without it."

Abandoning my former promise, I dig a sharp edged stiletto heel into his leather loafer. His face changes colors and I'm practically bracing myself for some sort of bark. But something just as predictable yet incredibly frightening happens.

There's a chorus of awing when a swing decides from the magnificently high ceiling. But their quickly hushed once the occupant on the rocking toy is revealed to be a grinning Harley Quinn, in all her black and red glory. A silver bag is cradled in her arm, which she opens before throwing out a hand full of glitter.

"Happy New Year!" She squeals in her usual New York accent. "Ain't it grand puddin'?"

"It's just a downright hoot." Puddin', or The Joker, agrees as he emerges from behind a column.

He's just as decked out as his partner. His new sequenced purple suit and platinum tie are quite appropriate. Not to mention his tall top hat and matching gloves. His makeup is clean and fresh, though the same can't be said for his hair. I try to focus on these things, and not my trembling hands. Get it together!

"Folks, gorgeous people of Gotham are you ready for an explosive night?" He asks energetically. "Well you better because you're gonna get it anyway!"

He gets the desired reaction as the men scowl and the women gasp.

"Come on people, like you didn't expect this! Of course you expected this, just like _I_ expected to have help." He announces, pointing to another column. "It's the amazing Two Face!"

On cue, Harvey appears with a nice sized gun in his hand. He seems to be searching the room for someone and I can almost feel my blood freeze when his eyes land on mine. Pushing past a balding man, he walks towards me, people parting like the red sea. When he's a few feet away, Dick protectively steps in front of me.

"Back off pipsqueak!" He warns in a Two Face growl.

Dick stands his ground but appears to reconsider when Harvey's gun introduces itself to his forehead. Gulping quite audibly, he backs off, leaving me with the protection of myself. He roughly seizes me by the nape of my neck, his firearm wielding hand groping my side. To be honest if it were just him and I at least had a decent weapon, it would be easy. But I'm smart enough to not struggle when he drags me to his two accomplices.

"Harvey we don't have time for your libido! It's ten till twelve!" The Joker cackles.

"Hostage now." Harvey explains, then strengthens his hold. "Libido later."

"Fine, just try to keep it PG, we have kids here." He indicates where Dick was standing to find him missing. "That's odd; I thought the rich boy was standing right there. Hey babe, did you see Richie Rich go anywhere?"

"No sugar, I've been watching you!" She coos.

"Well, keep your eyes peeled because you never know when you know who--"

And just like that the most majestic black cape catches the corner of my eye.

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Hope you guys like it! Please please please leave a review :)


	13. Fists, Legs, and Lips

There is an immediate chorus of gasps from the guests who have unintentionally been staged as some sort of audience for this three ring psychopathic circus. They all crowd around us, their faces altering according to the turns of the show. And if they are the onlookers, Batman and Robin have just become the lion tamers. They materialize in front of us, although not close enough. The Joker still has enough room to arrogantly stroll next to Harvey and I as he whistles an unrecognizable tune.

"Batsy I know you probably want to hurt me right now. But I don't think these people would much appreciate that." He announces, letting out a low cackle as he produces a contraption from his pocket. "This detonator will blow up the surrounding three buildings, and possibly kill…well, a lot of you guys."

"You don't want to do that!" Robin yells, as if he could rationalize with such a creature.

The Joker doesn't even respond to this with more than a toothy grin, firmly announcing his delight in doing just so. I'm not in the least shocked by his behavior, we lived together off and on for a year in Arkham. Off and on signifying the short spurts when either of us would escape, then be dutifully returned by the very two men who are giving Harvey and the Joker death glares from their masks.

"You're crazy, but even I know you're not suicidal. Where would the fun be in ending everything now?" Batman gruffly demands. "The blast from that kind of explosion would put your life at risk too."

"You worry about _you_ and I'll worry about _me_!" He nearly squeals. "Hey Two Face, what time is it?"

"We got two minutes." He answers, twisting his wrist to see his watch.

The gold Rolex creates a few marks on my own arm from the hold he still has me in. His left arm is circled around my waist while his right hand is clenched to the back of my neck. The only parts of my body I can move are my eyes. And when I utilize this restrained mobility I see Batman lunge forward and in one swift motion pin Joker to the floor and free the detonator.

"I may wear makeup, but you're the _real_ fool." The Joker cackles. "If you though that it'd be that easy…

"You'd be wrong." Harvey eerily finishes.

But before I can even guess what he means, Harvey whips a large metal object from somewhere and jerks it upwards. My jaw gets in the way of his revelation as it smashes into me. The pain has my lungs shut down for a moment as I begin to feel dizzy. I haven't been hit like this since I was in the cat suit. The whole side of my face throbs.

"Happy New Year Batman." Harvey pronounces in a monotone.

Yanking my arm back he shoves what I realize is the real detonator in my hand. The red blinking button rests just underneath my fingertips, his larger hand smothering mine. He leans his face into the crook of my neck, the scar tissue brushing against my skin.

"We're doing this together babe." He whispers before jamming my thumb down.

I slam my eyes shut, clamping my increasingly aching jaw as I await the somewhat familiar feeling of the aftershock and rubble of the building. But the objects falling from above me feel light and airy, and the most disturbing noise fills my ears. I squint due the sudden brightness of the room to see nearly everyone doubled over in laughter. Garland, streamers, and balloons spray from the New Years countdown ball in a continual shower of glitz. When I turn my head to Harvey, I see he is wearing a black gasmask as are the Joker and Harlequin. Suddenly the terror of realization fills my head as I hold my breath to counter the effects of Joker's laughing gas. I search the mass of people to see the crime fighting duo nowhere in sight. I attempt to continue my visual pursuit when I feel myself being hauled in the opposite direction.

I initially stumble but regain my balance as Harvey continues to pull me with him. Finally fed up with my predicament, and sensing greater trouble ahead, I forcefully withdraw my arm and slam my fist into his face. He responds with a stinging retaliation to my abdomen which causes me to gasp for air. I take another swing and feel the contact of flesh again. But my surroundings seem to almost entirely distract me from his next jab as I taste the tangy poison slip through my gaping mouth. The room immediately begins to spin and the colors swirl in a psychedelic haze, like my younger clubbing days. Even in this state I manage another punch before something hard and plastic is placed over my face. I'm picked up from the ground and I squirm to escape until I see the arms belong to a friend. A friend with black rubber sleeves.

XXXXX

"Drink this." Bruce instructs, handing me a glass of fizzing liquid. "It will help fight the gas in your system."

I blink again; sure this must be a dream. I remember the giggles bubbling from my throat before everything went black. By that time we had reached the crystal white lobby. But as I open my eyes for another time I find my shoes are no longer on my feet. My gown is splayed over my legs and a billowy down comforter. Craning my neck I see a very familiar headboard, dark mahogany wood. My heart leaps into my stomach, tingles of shock running down my spine like electrical wires. This is Bruce's room.

"Relax. It's just you and me now." He soothes, clearly seeing my bewilderment. "This will make you feel better."

"Thanks." I mumble, before slowly forcing the bitter stuff down my throat.

The cup feels almost weightless. He takes it from me to set it down and I grab his hand in order to test its reality. It's here alright, and warm. The heat from him brings the contrasting temperature of my own body to my attention and I instantly begin to shiver.

"This is just a normal reaction.'' He explains, spreading a soft blanket over me. "Is that any better?"

I nod, my hands still trembling but the rest of me considerably less chilly. I reach out and place my hand on his cheek. There's seriousness in his features I can't place. His eyes appear concentrated, monitoring the slightest of my movements like a surgeon. The room seems unnaturally dark, making the glow I see around him even more profound. My fingertips seem incredibly sensitive as I slide them down his face and rest my thumb on his bottom lip. I can acutely hear his shallow breathing and his slight swish of his dress pants as he shifts in his sitting position next to me.

"Is this real?" I whisper.

"Yes." He responds just as quietly, hesitating before saying. "I'm sorry for making you go. I honestly didn't expect this."

"Me neither." I agree, feeling the dull soreness of my newly acquired bruises. "But it's okay, I kind of missed this."

"Getting bashed around and slightly drugged by lunatics?"

"No, I missed the feeling of being safe, not being blown up, being rescued…this." I say dreamily, fanning my arms over my head and across the space I can reach on the king sized mattress.

"So you missed my bed?" He asks with a smirk.

I slowly shake my head, "I missed you."

His smirk softens into a genuine smile as he gradually leans towards me. He becomes so close I can feel his breath before he kisses my bare shoulder, then my neck, until he's looking down at me. Our faces are centimeters apart and I close my eyes in anticipation.

But I can feel him backing away and I tear my lids open again. Seeing my look of annoyance, he consoles me with a grin before removing his tie and letting it drop. Other silk and cotton fabrics collect in a pile before he lifts the blanket and almost hovers over me.

I immediately rest both of my hands on his chest, my fingers rediscovering their way to his arms and the broad muscles of his back. He groans as I brush past wounds and scrapes. I stop at a faint scar on his collarbone, one I'm intimately familiar with, and gently kiss the spot. I glance at his face and catch a look of fear mixed with pleasure in his expression.

"I…haven't done this in a while." He speaks hesitantly, shifting some of his weight as if her were nervous.

"I haven't done this since us." I blurt, unable to control the words any more than the moan that slips through my lips at the position of his leg.

"You're kidding." He accuses flatly.

"No."

"That was…over a year ago." He seems to calculate in his mind.

"Yeah." I breathe, a little irritated and embarrassed by the turn in conversation.

"But you love this!" He exclaims.

"Yeah."

"You love this more than any woman I've ever been with…and a lot of guys I know too."

"What's your point?" I whine.

"This is going to be fun." He whispers, kissing me again as his fingers find the side zipper on my dress.

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Yay, another chapter up! Please REVIEW!!!!


	14. Late Night Talk

Hey, sorry for the delay! This chapter has a lot of dialogue...but I hope you like it anyway :)

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I straighten my back, surprised by how soft the mattress feels against my spine. The sheets feel much too silky against my legs and the room is serenely silent, the usual noise of Gotham traffic weirdly missing. I open my eyes and see even in the darkness that this is not my apartment. Am I really where I think I am? I reach over my head to feel the engravings I know so well on the headboard: check. I lift the amazingly sleek sheets to see I'm indeed naked: check. I look at the opposite side of the bed…to see it empty. I turn my head to the glowing green numbers as they seem to whisper the 4 A.M. time to my tired eyes. I sit up, trying to separate the images of bodies in my mind from fact and fiction. The haze that was mingling in my system is now clear, which only leaves me confused. I'm pretty sure what happened…but the tangled figures I can remember seem more like an intense, a very intense, dream rather than what I expect occurred a few hours ago.

I swing my legs over the bed as the thought of how thirsty I am begins to dominate my other musings. The hardwood floor is oddly warm against my bare feet…bare, oh that's right, I'm completely stripped. I stand up to kneel next to a buddle of clothing which I realize is Bruce's. After pawing around the floor for some time I'm still unable to find my gown. With a sigh I pick up his white long-sleeved dress shirt and slide my arms through. With all of the buttons in place I'm fairly covered up. Who cares? I'm so thirsty, I inwardly whine as I shuffle out of the bedroom and down the hall. _Why_ is this house so huge? I question this as I walk down the stairs and through two separate rooms before I reach my destination.

The lights of the kitchen are evil compared to the darkness I've been stumbling through. And it doesn't even dawn on me what this mere illumination could signify until I'm facing the refrigerator. Is someone else in here? I hear a muffled sound as if someone were trying to answer my question. Looking to my left I see Dick sitting on the countertop in nothing but a pair of grey boxer briefs, a full plate of roast beef resting in his lap. His mouth is the process of chewing while his eyes are cast down, no not to the floor, but on my thinly veiled thighs.

"Want some _meat_?"He asks; his suggestiveness very evident in his voice.

"No, just water." I mumble, neither feeling in the mood nor having the mental energy for a fight.

I open the large silver door, letting out a small chill before I grab a bottle of water. Popping the cap, I surprise myself by downing the whole thing. Setting it down by the sink, I begin to breathe through my mouth again and wonder where this sore throat is coming from. The water barely affects me.

"Someone's mouth's been busy tonight." He remarks with a smirk. "Where is Bruce anyway? Handcuffed to the bed…again?"

"No." I mutter bitterly.

"Well where is he?"

"Where is _he? _Why the hell are you even in here this late?"

"I'm never awake the same hours. Staying up late, running around, locking up psychos like you take its toll. Plus, I'm hungry." He states casually.

"Do you really need to eat like _that_?"

"Like what?" He asks, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"Never mind." I say as I take another bottle from the fridge. "I think I'm sick or something."

"Don't worry; it's just from the laughing gas. It makes you really thirsty." Dick explains with a shocking amount of kindness. "But so do other things."

He raises an eyebrow, his more familiar attitude resurfacing. I roll my eyes and count myself lucky. From my past experiences I know he could be acting a lot worse. I'm actually halfway surprised he didn't try to kick me out again the second he saw me. Maybe he _has_ matured.

"So, how long?" He asks.

"What?"

"How long until you dig your claws in and swipe all of his money?" He questions in all seriousness.

"Dick I don't care about the money. I wouldn't care if Bruce…worked…if he worked at a convenient store or something. I've never cared about the money. Bruce is the only man who has ever…"

"Uh, Selina." Dick interrupts.

"No listen to me!" I demand, now fully awake. "Bruce is…he's…he's…well he's why you're here, letting you stay in his house. He's why I'm still in Gotham, why I didn't run again when I had the chance, why I don't want to be the psychopath you still see. I don't believe he sees me like everyone else, like I do. He's the only person I know who doesn't make me feel like I'm crazy."

I can't tell whether I've gotten to Dick or if he's so bored that he's looking past me. I make a sharp turn to have my nose practically slam into a wall of muscle. I don't really need to look up a few inches to know who the exposed chest belongs to, but I do anyway. He's smiling down at me, his brown hair adorably misshapen with bed head.

"I've never heard you say anything like that." He says in a hush, bringing a hand to my cheek. "I--"

"You're a damn fool." Dick states from behind us. "She's playing you, drawing you in like a purring cat, before she decides to bite you again."

"Dick--" Bruce starts in anger.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stay off the bloody marble?" Alfred's very distinct voice barks.

Dick doesn't waste a second in jumping down while simultaneously trying to hide his late night snack. But Alfred merely marches in front of him and snatches the plate from behind his back. It only takes another glare from the nicely dressed gentleman to get Dick skittering away like his adolescent mentality.

"This is for the lunch I was going to make for tomorrow." He explains, giving Bruce and me an odd look. "I could make a fortune if I worked for Gotham Weekly, catching the three of you in here with nothing but your knickers on."

"Are you unhappy with your pay Alfred?" Bruce asks, a little in jest.

"Of course not Master Wayne. Just considering some part-time work."

"Goodnight Alfred." Bruce says with an arm around my waist.

"Goodnight Master Wayne, Miss Kyle." He replies as he turns to tend to the roast.

XXXXX

"Ouch." I groan as the doorknob presses into my back. "Ow."

"Sorry." Bruce laughs before bringing his lips back to my neck.

He places a hand above my head, steadying himself against his bedroom door, while the other is resting on my hip. I feel a bit ridiculous groping in the hall when a perfectly good bed is waiting just inside. But after the amount of coaxing and waiting it took to get where we are now, I'm willing to take what I can. On the trek back up he explained he was in the bathroom when I woke up and he actually thought I bailed when he returned to an empty bed. It wasn't until we reached the second floor when Bruce made a comment about how much better I look in his shirt than he does and that lead to our current position; the last thing I can think to do is complain.

"Mmm, do that thing you did before." He whispers into my ear.

"What thing?" I ask with a much sexy confidence as I can.

"You know from earlier tonight, _the thing."_

"Oh right _that_." I say but don't move.

He looks at me, right into my eyes like so many times before. I swear he's more effective than any lie test I've taken, and I'm not exactly a lie detector virgin. His hazel irises focus on my features for a few more seconds before a pained look crosses his face. He steps back with a sigh.

"I'm so stupid. The laughing gas, you don't remember anything do you?"

"I remember some of it." I answer truthfully. "It's just…a little blurry."

"And you're not mad?"

"No." I laugh. "Why would I be mad?"

I drape my arms over his shoulders and bring him closer to me. I try to reassure him of my seriousness in the matter by kissing him again.

"You two should really get a room." I hear Dick remark.

Bruce abruptly pulls his lips away, spinning around to his younger friend. From the tenseness I can spot in the muscles of his back I can tell he is in no joking mood. But this observation is pretty meaningless considering his stern expression.

"Go to _your _room." Bruce orders. "You shouldn't be up here; you don't even sleep on this hall."

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm not a teenager anymore Bruce."

"Then stop acting like one." He says a little calmer. "Tell me, tell me what bugs you so much about Selina and I being together?"

Dick stands there, thinking it over as if he asked him what the circumference of the moon was. After some supposed consideration he just shrugs.

"Are you jealous?" Bruce questions.

He shrugs again, smirking as he says, "But I'd always be up for sharing."

"No way, he's all mine." I assert, clutching him tightly.

Dick shoots me a glare before walking away, muttering something about unoriginality and tabloid stories of Batman and Robin. It's my turn to shrug as I dismiss it, glad to have him gone.

"You know I think he was talking about you." He says, returning my embrace.

"I guess." I sigh, closing my eyes. "I'm tired."

"Me too." He yawns, removing one hand from by body to open the door. "After you."

But before I'm more than three steps in, he picks me up from under my arms, lifting me a foot off the floor. I laugh, remembering how often we used to do this, as he carries me to bed. Once I'm under the covers he slides in next to me, coming as close as possible.

"Don't leave." He says softly.

"I won't." I answer with my eyes closed; breathing him in before I try to fall asleep.

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As always I'd love to hear what you guys thought! Review :)


	15. We Can Call it Paradise

I honestly didn't think it was possible, but he may be even more attractive asleep. The emotional weight he usually carries is in no way present in his calm features. He looks completely at ease and unarguably handsome. Not even the most chic, expensive, tailored Armani suit could compete with the blanket resting just below his shoulders. His face is slightly tilted away from me and towards the window while one of his arms is stretched to the point that his hand is on my stomach. The morning sun sneaks through the old-fashioned curtains, that I'm sure were his parents, and cast enough light in the room to give me a clear view of Bruce but not enough to disturb him. I on the other hand have been awake for at least twenty minutes. I've never slept in the same bed with _anyone_ before, not just Bruce; even before I ever slipped into a cat suit. I went from a crib, to a bedroom of my own as a single child, to an apartment, to a cell in Arkham, then back to my apartment. Yeah, I've been with my share of guys but they weren't exactly the cuddling type. Bruce and I both "worked nights." I remember in the beginning stage we each made up excuses for why we had to leave, but after a while neither of us said anything. I honestly thought I'd never be here, in his bed, to be with him the morning after. Now that I'm finally here I'm not really sure as to what to do.

He's so still. He hasn't done as much as twitch, hardly making any noise as he breathes. It's kind of funny to see him sleeping horizontally; I always imagined he just hung upside down from the ceiling. Lifting my chin I see the pale eggshell surface is higher than I expected, but this is a pretty old house. The blank open space somehow pulls things from my mind that have been lost in the scramble of being briefly held hostage, that ridiculous dance, and of course, the bliss of Bruce's naked body. I think of Christmas Eve, Dick's words echoing through me as I stormed down the hall. _Maybe if you weren't drunk all the time you could get laid by someone who hasn't stabbed, clawed, or mangled you. _Other than my reasonable dislike of the overall content, it disturbs me to think of Bruce as quote "drunk all the time." When we dated he hardly ever touched the stuff and in the short time of being together again I haven't seen him drink beyond that one night. It just doesn't add up, nor do his lamenting of his dual identities. He said he couldn't tell when the mask was on or off; I always thought that problem belonged solely to me.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asks, startling me.

I jerk my head to the left to see his eyes studying my face, and I mentally take back my prior thought; nothing can compare to _that._ His attention is entirely on me, waiting until I answer his question.

"I'm fine," I sigh with feigned nonchalance.

He raises his eyebrows as to silently declare his disbelief. But I merely look away, somehow certain that it will give him the hint that I don't want to talk about it. Instead he stretches his hand against my skin and pulls me towards him by my waist until I can almost feel his heartbeat through my shoulder.

He presses me tightly against his chest, conscious of his stitched wound, and repeats, "Selina, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing," I speak with less certainty.

He stares at me briefly before leaning in close to my face. His once still fingers start to trace different shapes on my ribs as he teases the line of my jaw with his lips. He manages to stay at a perfectly annoying distance, just close enough to graze my skin. My neck is next as he carries on at an agonizingly sluggish pace; goose bumps leaving a trail of evidence behind. When he reaches my upper chest a moan I can't hold back anymore breaks the silence and he smirks because he knows he's winning. He motions as if he intends to go a few inches lower, but my wishful thinking is crushed when he returns to my face. His mouth lingers over mine before he sweeps over to my ear.

"Tell me," He whispers. "And I'll finish that deal we had."

I take a second to nibble on my bottom lip before letting out a meek, "We need to talk about Christmas Eve."

All signs of playfulness seem to melt away as he pulls back to sit upright; the blanket falling to his waist. He cups his face with both hands, sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair. This relatively small movement makes his level of stress very clear to me. I can always tell when he does the hair thing.

With one hand still in his brown locks, he turns to me, saying with desperation, "I'm _so_ sorry."

"Bruce, you don't need to apologize. I just want to know why you were drunk. I thought you hated drinking," I say lightheartedly.

"You don't understand. I wasn't drunk."

"Yes you were," I state; this may be worse than I thought if he's in denial.

"No, I was…pretending to be drunk."

"And _why_ would you want to do that?" I ask, still very confused.

"I just didn't want to be alone," He speaks somberly. "I thought if you thought I was drunk and I said the right things…you would…well, you would…"

"I'd take advantage of you," I offer and he nods. "But…you didn't need an act for that. You could have asked me or hell, I would have been fine if you just slammed me against the couch."

He cracks a small smile, "I just wanted to make sure you'd stay. I assumed you were still mad at me about Arkham…so I thought revenge sex was safe bait."

"As hot as that sounds," I say, pushing myself up to sit next to him. "I still don't understand. Why that night?"

"My dad…"

"Your dad's birthday; I forgot." I unnecessarily confess, wrapping a hand around his forearm. "_I _should be the one to say sorry."

"No," He softly declares. "I need to get over this. I shouldn't be moping around anymore."

"What about the thing Dick said?"

"Dick was just being an ass. He started laughing the second he knew you couldn't hear him. He didn't remember either. So really, you don't need to feel sorry."

I rest my head on his shoulder and whisper, "Well, I'm sorry anyway. We can talk about it."

"Thanks, but there's something I need to do first."

"What?"

He grabs my shoulder and roughly pushes me into the mattress, his body close to follow. I groan; my bruises not very happy with the amount of pressure I'm receiving. He flicks his eyes to read my expression and I try to console him with words but I can't even _think_ of a single one as his hands travel across my previously taunted skin. He smiles that infectious smile of his before kissing my already parted lips.

But as my luck goes I hear someone loudly cough as if clearing their throat. Bruce pulls away and cranes his neck to see our interruption standing by the door in a crisp suit.

"Yes Alfred?" He sighs.

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Sorry this took for-ever! Please, please, please tell me what you think! I love reviews more than a fat kid loves cake :)


	16. Headlines

Author's Note: Hey you guys! If you're reading this, that's good news for me and I hope for you too, because I'm fond of this chapter :) Thanks for those faithfully leaving reviews! And for the question asked about last chapter, yes, Selina _was_ offering herself up like a Thanksgiving turkey to Bruce, but _after_ Christmas Eve. In chapter four she was still slightly denying her pull to Bruce, he did lock her up for a year. Anyway, I know that chapter was a long time ago. So...**to get the most from this chapter I would advise rereading Chapter 3**. Thanks for your time. Read away!

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I'd love to see the list of requirements it takes to be Alfred Pennyworth. On the top of my head I can rattle off cooking, cleaning an entire mansion, wound stitching, secret keeping, and as I've now learned, wake-up calls. Because he's standing by the door looking remarkably unabashed considering he's just walked in to find Bruce is not alone and very much on top of me. He merely has a pleasant expression on his face as he explains why he's here.

"Master Wayne, I'm sorry for the interruption, but you have a meeting with Lucius Fox."

"On New Year's Day? Whose idea was that?" Bruce asks, barely hiding his irritation.

"Yours, sir," Alfred answers; unaffected by his tone of voice. "Something about an upgrade on the Batpod."

"What time?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

I can't help but chuckle, aware this isn't the first time this has happened. Batman has a habit of giving Bruce a bit of a one-track mind, forcing him to focus on lunatics and killers at the expense of meetings, functions, and sometimes dates. Remembering what Batman doesn't; that's another one on the Pennyworth list.

The image of Alfred scolding a fully geared Batman about a social function only has me laughing again, which gets me a glare from Bruce. He may be a guarded man when it comes to his thoughts, but the amount of time I've spent with him has allowed me the privilege of discerning some of his inner-workings. And right now I can tell he's not really mad at me, even though I'm finding this amusing. He's probably frustrated for making Lucius come to the office on New Years and then not showing up for his own meeting.

"Don't even; I know I'm late." Bruce says_ for_ me, seeing as the back of my hand is trying to restrain my teasing. "You can mock me later."

I have a tendency to state the obvious when I'm being sarcastic. It can really annoy him; he should have never led on to that. But understanding his hurried state, I only nod as I watch him roll over and step out of bed…_stark naked_. Okay…maybe he's in a bigger rush than I thought, I consider as he casually walks into his closet.

My eyes go straight to Alfred who I see has averted his to look at me. Feeling a little awkward, I raise my hand to give him an out of place wave.

"It's good to have you back, Miss Kyle," He seems to say genuinely. "Would you like some strawberry pancakes?"

"I'd love some," I speak with relief, feeling very hungry.

XXXXX

"Are you eating _my _breakfast?" Bruce asks, straightening his tie.

"I was told you don't eat breakfast," I state truthfully, Alfred nodding his head by the stove in agreement. "And probably."

He playfully snatches my glass of orange juice off the kitchen table and sips it with a smug expression. His ploy at annoying me would probably be more effective if he wasn't dressed so deliciously in that chocolate brown suit. While it is just a construction of another mask, another persona, I have to admit that I prefer him in this disguise than the other. The other one, Batman, who's fought me tooth and claw, literally, and was often a stable fixture in my nightmares back in Arkham.

A strange chill creeps over my arms and through my spine, despite the warmth coming from the kitchen. I don't understand why I'm feeling this way; I thought that my now I'd be over my fear of Batman. He did save my life just last night, yet thinking about him doesn't seem to stir any positive emotions inside me. No, just goose bumps, which I hope Bruce doesn't notice. It doesn't help that I'm wearing my dress from the previous night; stupid backless, sleeveless dress.

"Believe me, I try to get him to eat," Alfred says over his shoulder. "You could at least try some; I don't think it'd hurt."

Bruce takes a look at my plate of half eaten pancakes loaded with strawberries and maple syrup. He scrunches his nose up; I'm sure because he has never been one for anything with the word cake in it or any dessert for that matter. But I can see Alfred shoot him another prodding look as he hands Bruce his coffee. Bruce leans toward my food as if to sample it but then swiftly kisses me instead.

"Tasty," Bruce comments, liking his lips. "I'll see you after work, both of you."

And with that he takes his thermos of coffee and walks away. A goodbye kiss before work; that's a new one. But I like it, I inwardly beam.

"Miss Kyle," Alfred speaks as if he's repeating himself. "I forgot to tell you; you left your cellular phone in the entrance. It's been ringing like mad all morning."

"Thanks Alfred," I say, frowning as he hands it to me.

I don't know who could be calling me since I haven't had it very long. Only a few people even have my number. Bruce had insisted buying it for me on our second date, so he could get a hold of me. I'm notorious for saying I'll call and then don't; an easy thing to create excuses for when you only have a landline. But as part of my new identity, one that _doesn't _dress as a cat and _does_ call her boyfriend back, I relented to the sleek red cell. Flipping open the face of it I see I have four missed calls, all from one person, someone who has completely fallen from my mind in the past few weeks. Oh, it's just Matt Troy, the photographer who was nice enough to get me work and send me a healthy paycheck, otherwise known as…my boss.

"Crap," I mutter.

XXXXX

"So why the hell did it take you so long to get back to me?" Matt asks, seeming more jittery than angry.

I swear he looks like a little kid in a candy store, well, if little kids had stubble and smoked cigarettes. But really, he appears almost uncontrollably excited about something and can barely sit still behind his desk.

Despite being inside he still wears the beanie he had on when I first met him, which combined with his jumpy body movements, makes him look more like a 90s rock druggie. Hmm, now I have some bizarre image of Kurt Cobain licking an enormous lollipop. I did not get enough sleep last night.

"I'm really sorry. I've just been…busy lately," I explain, hoping he doesn't pry.

But instead he cracks a Cheshire-worthy grin, "I'm kidding with you! I know exactly what you've been up to."

He opens the top drawer of his desk and slaps a stack of magazines down. Laying on top is a shiny brand new copy of _Gotham Weekly _displaying a more than embarrassing shot of my unconscious body in the arms of Batman, the neon pink caption reading, "Bat and Cat Reunite." This must have been taken at the Ball, yay, I think sarcastically. So what can I say to this?

"You didn't tell me you're Catwoman!" He accuses, flicking his hand towards the ashtray.

"I _was _Catwoman," I say, trying to restrain my irritation at the title. "I didn't tell you because…it's not really true anymore. I'm Selina Kyle, just Selina Kyle."

I think he can read my discomfort because he changes the subject, "_Selina_, don't worry, this isn't some weird way of me telling you you're fired. This actually gave me an idea. Well, this did."

He pushes the trashy tabloids aside, revealing a Gotham newspaper. Its front cover shows Batman escorting a disgruntled Joker in a pair of handcuffs, trailed by an even more depressed Harlequin, and a heavily restrained Two Face; three guards surrounding him. _This_ caption may be a matte black, but the words are much more eye catching; "Batman: Disarms Bombs and Gets the Crooks." Bellow the black and white picture is an article summarizing most of what I experienced firsthand. But near the end, it goes on to say Batman discovered ten very real bombs in adjoining buildings where the Ball was being held. I guess the Joker did mean business.

"So you get it?" Matt practically squeaks, leaning over the paper.

"Not really," I try to speak gently; no need to squash my boss' creative spirit.

"You see, with this article, what Batman did, people can only like him more. He saved who knows how many lives. He's the hero of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That's why I want his essence on the cover, on _your_ cover!" He exclaims.

"His essence?" I question, still confused.

"Ok, so I know this is an entertainment magazine, but I want to take current events and meld them into fashion. Your old history with him and your new peaceful understanding only strengthens my symbolism. I want to be able to celebrate Gotham's hero while showing off great clothes," He declares with a smirk. "And _that's_ what you're going to wear."

He uses the pack of Pall Malls he's working on to point behind me. I place a hand on the back of my chair and turn around to see a tight, black leather, very feminine looking Batsuit/dress. He has got to be kidding me.

"You're kidding me," I vocalize; certain this is a sleep deprived hallucination.

* * *

There it is! Please leave me a review to tell me what you think :)


	17. Ring Me Up

**Hey guys! Sorry for the late update. I'm really going to try to post the next chapter by next Saturday. This will probably end up being a 20 chapter story, maybe longer, but no longer than 22. I hope you like it! **

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"Come on Bruce," I groan from the hall, childishly slapping his open door.

A muffled clink of a clothes hanger is all I can hear over the Beethoven music Alfred's playing downstairs. Alfred has always called it his cleaning music, so I can only guess he's scrubbing or dusting some area of the manor. If only he could shoo Bruce out of his bedroom. He's taking _forever_ to get dressed, and while that usually isn't a bad thing, it is when my stomach sounds like a feral cat. We're supposed to be going out for dinner to celebrate my birthday. He said we'd leave at seven o'clock sharp, for a reservation at some new Greek restaurant everyone's been raving about. Its eight forty-five and I'm the only one ready. I thought the _woman_ was supposed to keep the _man_ waiting; damn gender stereotypes!

Getting the feeling he's ignoring me, I give the door a parting kick as I begin to walk farther down the hall. As closets and rooms begin to disappear, the lights dim as the A/C seems to kick up as if trying to compensate, giving me the feeling I'm in a cave. I snort, embarrassed by my sudden fear of the dark. It's the hunger, I surmise, walking a little more quickly despite myself. I consider going back to Bruce's room when something sparkles in the corner of my eye. Right by my foot is…my bracelet? I squat down to pluck it from the freshly vacuumed carpet and see my guess is confirmed. I turn it around in my hand, admiring the piece of jewelry that once belonged to Bruce's mother; my first birthday present from him after seven months of dating. He let me keep it, even after we broke up, and I'd even worn it as I was hauled into Arkham. But why is it here? Aren't I wearing it?

I lift my arm to see a black gloved hand wrapped around my wrist. I let out an uncharacteristically shrill scream as I'm flung around, now facing the opposite direction, face-to-face with Batman.

"You're stealing from me again!" He barks, using his other hand to clamp onto my free arm.

"No, no, you gave me this," I squeak; utterly terrified.

"Liar! Thief! Slut!" He hurls this last insult between clenched teeth, making me wince even more so than from his rough physical treatment.

"No," I manage to cry.

But I seem to have no effect on him. He merely snarls as he slams me against the wall, my face pressed against the sharp corner of a picture frame. His grip loosens momentarily before pain shoots through me; the sound of my left arm breaking, ringing through my ears. I shut my eyes as something is brought over my head that I immediately recognize as a straitjacket. I struggle with the material, scratching it relentlessly. Panic gives me a second wind and I thrash around, incredibly relieved when I find my arms are free from restraints…and pain?

I snap my eyes open to see my darkened living room and my body awkwardly sprawled across the couch. I bring my hand to my sweaty face, my skin feeling hot underneath my fingertips. I must have fallen asleep here, I realize, seeing as I'm still fully dressed. It was just a nightmare. _Just a nightmare_, I inwardly repeat, allowing my pulse to steady.

"Whatthehell?" I shout, jerking up to an unfamiliar thrumming against my leg.

My hand darts to a lamp by my head, the light revealing my cell phone in a vibrating frenzy. I check my clock on the kitchen wall to see its three o'clock in the morning. Is this another nightmare?

Trembling, I pick it up and press it to my ear.

"Hello?" A very familiar male voice speaks.

"_Bruce_!" I gasp with a little too much emphasis.

"Yeah it's me," He chuckles. "I guess you haven't figured out the whole caller ID concept."

There's an awkward silence as he clears his throat. "It was a joke," He explains, though I'm too exhausted for an even weak courtesy laugh. "Selina, is everything ok?"

"You woke me up," I blurt.

"That never used to bother you before," He says with an animalistic growl. "Speaking of which, why aren't you over here?"

"Where?"I ask; trying to push out the stray images from my dream.

"The manor; I thought you'd be here tonight," He says, pausing before asking, "Uh…last night was, uh, good for you, right?"

His voice practically leaks with self-consciousness; like he should have _any_ doubt. However ridiculous, it's endearing and a crack at another gender stereotype; we get back together, sleep together, and _he's_ the one getting clingy.

"Of course it was," I manage to coo, the terror in my mind subsiding. "Today just got busy and crazy all of a sudden."

"How?" He asks, sounding alarmed.

"I'm fine, well, mostly fine," I assure, touched by his protectiveness. "It's just that today at work…"

"Work?"

"Oh yeah, I'm back at _Craze_, full-time now. Anyway, so I was talking to Matt, the photographer, and he had a…an interesting idea for the new cover inspired by a certain Batman centered tabloid," I cringe waiting for a reaction.

But instead I hear the rustle of paper. "Batman and Robin: Friends or Lovers?" He reads incredulously.

"What? You buy that crap?"

"No!" He exclaims. "They just send them to me, big stacks of them, the paparazzi or something, and Alfred uses them as fire kindling. Well, the ones that are like newspapers, not the laminated ones."

"Oh…that makes more sense. But keep looking, it's not that one," I explain as I hear more magazines shuffled through. "By the way, _what is_ the answer to that?"

"Very funny," He states dryly. "Here's one, has you on it too. Bat and Cat Reunite. But, oh…I guess he knows…about you're past now."

"Yeah," I sigh. "But I at least still have my job, which I don't know if is good or bad right now."

"Why?"

"Well…he thinks that since Batman's image is heading in a positive direction, with the news about you disarming those bombs, we should celebrate it on the cover. You're on the front cover of the paper too, for finding those bombs. So…he wants…he wants me to wear, well, pretty much…a Batsuit with a skirt."

I'm expecting some sort of grunt or groan, but instead the receiver is filled with laughter. Its volume is surprising, encouraging me to take it away from my ear. However, surprise is quickly replaced with annoyance.

"Oh, don't be supportive or anything."

"I'm sorry, it's just too bizarre. I mean, it's not exactly horrible, awkward, yeah, but nothing more, right?" He asks in seriousness.

I think over my next words carefully, what am I supposed to say; I have an irrational fear of Batman even though I know he's you? I gulp, hoping he can't see through my uncertainty, when I hear a female shriek.

"Bruce who ya talking to?" The female voice giggles, sounding very close.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Selina," Bruce says; I'm not sure to whom.

"What?!" I shout.

"OMG, Selina!" The female exclaims. "Lemme talk to her!"

There's some rustling noises and a few buttons beep as if someone is holding the phone too tightly.

"Hey girl!" This rapidly aggravating voice practically screams.

"Who is this?" I ask bitterly.

"Ah!" She gasps like a porn star. "It's totally me…_Sherry_!"

"_Oh_…of course, how are you?" I ask Dick's girlfriend, wondering when we became BFFs.

"A-MAZING!" She shrieks again. "You should like come over, we're havin' a SLUMBER PARTY!"

She bursts into another fit of giggles as a faint male voice says something I can't quite make out.

"Gotta go, byyyyeeeee," Sherry signs off like a six-year-old.

"Sorry about that," Bruce apologizes, once again on the phone. "Dick has a few girls over."

"I guess that's what she meant by slumber party. How many are we talking here?"

"Uh, besides Sherry, there's Brandy, some brunette, and uh, a redhead who may or may not be Lindsey Lohan. I…wait a minute," He hesitates, seeming to slightly move the phone from his mouth.

His voice is muffled, but I can still overhear what he's saying. "No, no, thank you, yes, uh, no, no, I'm fine, no, not like that, wow you're handsy. DICK!" He yells.

"Babe, the party's down the hall. No, he's not coming. It's fine, we got more in my room. Yeah, that's…" Dick's voice becomes fainter before a door is slammed.

Bruce lets out a loud sigh.

"Are you ok?" I ask with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, never better, I was just violated by a child," He mutters with what I can imagine is a grimace. "And I'm pretty sure she got coke on my pants."

"So it was Brandy?"

"How did you know that?" He questions, seemingly impressed.

"She was practically eye-screwing you at the ball and her being underage wouldn't surprise me anymore than her being a coke-head," I comment, getting up from the couch to walk to my room.

"Any chance of you coming over tonight?" He pleads. "You know, rescue me from this?"

I yawn, the need for sleep and my sudden decision to move making me lightheaded and overwhelmingly drowsy.

"I don't think so. Got to yet to work early tomorrow," I get out before another yawn.

I eye my dresser, trying to decide if changing clothes is worth it. Maybe I should start with my shoes, I think, sitting on my bed. But the second I'm in contact with my mattress, I fall back on it, landing right in the middle of my soft pillow.

"Are you still there?" Bruce's voice sounds louder now as I try to drift off.

"Hmm, yeah, goodnight, I lov…" Words pass through my lips that aren't registering one hundred percent. All I really notice is that Bruce sounds very quiet on the other end before I give up and close the phone.

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**There it is! Stacey thank you again for the review, it really inspired me to put Brandy and Sherry in the chapter. Speaking of reviews *acts like it's a coincidence* I would love some more! They make me happy :)**


	18. Streetwalker Batman

It's amazing just how horrible and pathetic dressing rooms can make you feel. Stuffed in a closet-like space, you're forced to strip in a fairly public setting and try on clothes that may have been tugged on countless other sweaty shoppers. As an eyelash thin teenager I hated it, as finding tops to fit my nonexistent chest was nearly impossible…or at least maddening. But today is the day I thought would never happen. Today I can say I would rather be there than here. And that's saying something for a girl who spent time in a padded room. I may be more developed and have less inhibition in undressing, but it doesn't change the familiar churn in my gut as I look at myself in the mirror. _Why_ did I agree to this?

"Selina, is everything alright in there?" Matt asks, softly knocking on the door.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute," I lie; everything is _not_ alright.

But my mumbled answer gets an equally passive "ok" before he walks off. _His_ soles are soft against the fancy hardwood floors while my four inch stilettos make more racket than the bars of a jail cell. _Ah_, yet another place I'd rather be, I semiseriously wish. Why would Batman wear stilettos anyway or neon pink lipstick?

I roll my heavily glittered eyes, fully knowing the answer to both. This is a high fashion magazine, a world where heels and makeup are as essential as a Batarang for going out to fight crime. And it's a world where Kevlar is replaced with sleek, skin hugging black leather in a plunging v-neck variety, which may look cute but would be hell in reality. Not to mention my bare legs as the skirt clings mid-thigh and my ankles are restrained in silly hot pink straps. As far as my "hidden identity" goes, the mask I'm wearing only covers half of my face in a very Phantom of the Opera way, which allows my long straightened hair to fall against my shoulders. If Batman was a Barbie I wouldn't be Malibu Batman, I'd be Streetwalker Batman.

_Uh_, I noisily exhale as I turn the knob and exit the tiny changing area. The clatter of my footwear is all too soon brought back to my attention as I'm greeted by a bored looking Matt. Great, this is his idea and he seems to be completely disinterested and I'm trapped in my equivalent of a Freddy Kruger getup.

"You nervous?" He asks, loading film in one of his many cameras.

"Yeah," I say a little too easily. "I mean…it's just, well, I don't exactly like being in this _thing_."

"Why's that?" He says with concern, probably eager for me to spill about a relationship I could make millions for spilling about.

"We aren't exactly friends; Batman and I."

"But he saved you," He says as if I offended him personally. "I think it's a pretty jerkish thing to say that about someone who had the decency to protect you and half of downtown Gotham in one night. And in all selfishness, it's kind of a great opportunity for you."

He's smirking at some insight he's made as he continues to check the lighting and other last minute changes, like the amount of shading and the Gotham skyscraper background. He's acting as if he doesn't want me to ask him to elaborate, tries to look passive as he twirls a fresh cigarette between two fingers. But I know what he expects and I hand it to him like exact change.

"Why?"

"Think about it!" He exclaims, his charcoal grey sweater jostling in his excitement. "You have the opportunity to get inside you're once upon a time enemy, inside _his suit_. It's like walking a mile in someone's shoes. Doesn't that make you feel in the least bit liberated?"

Despite his quirky delivery, I can actually see where's he's coming from. I mean, I don't feel nervous or scared around Bruce, but I do when he's Batman, when he's in the suit. But now _I'm_ in the suit. I've gutted the Halloween disguise and I'm seeing it from its cheap plastic insides. I _do _feel liberated…well, at least not nauseatingly sick.

"You ready?" His voice questions from behind the lens.

"For now I am," I sigh, striking a pose as the hot lights begin to flash.

XXXXX

"So, how do they look?" I ask, feeling a strange euphoria from the photo shoot. His advice had been successful, freeing me from a load of stress. I just hope it showed up on film.

He leans over his sleek new computer, one hand on the mouse with the other scratching the side of his signature beanie. Why he insists on wearing that when it seems to irritate his scalp so much, I don't know. But it does give him a youthful edge to the thirty years I assume he has, or it may just keep his head warm.

"They're great," He says with a surprising amount of flatness. "Any one of these pictures would fit perfectly on the cover."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I accuse, a little irritated for my work not being appreciated.

"It is," He snaps, turning to me. "It's bullshit."

"Excuse me," I speak curtly, straightening in the chair across from him.

"That came out wrong," he sighs, wiping something invisible from his pristine desk. "I just wish I could take this where I really want to."

He seems to roll his eyes at himself, shoving a hand in his jean pocket to pull out yet another cancer stick. Unlike Bruce, this guy is easier to read than a fast food menu. He's nervous about what he wants to say, possibly doesn't think he can trust me, and even more likely has a great idea.

"You're going to laugh," He warns, already chuckling to himself. "But I really, really wanted to take this, this whole Batman thing, Gotham thing, and make it something that's worth someone's time. Something people who aren't twenty-year-old women want to read. I don't want to be the guy who just takes pretty pictures. To be honest…I want to write. I want to start my own magazine."

His confession comes out with an ease I envy. I've never been much good at telling the truth or talking about what's really important. While I may be blunt, it doesn't always seem to affect the _quality_ of what comes out of my mouth.

"How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since the first time the editor went into rehab," He groans. "She's back there again, by the way, which means more backups on the publishing dates and me taking up _her _slack. I'm so sick of this, working here, dealing with snooty models. I'd love to write my own stuff, have the great photos, be the editor who actually gets credit for it and make _something_ that at least tries to make a difference."

"What would you write about?"

"Mostly Gotham, current events, Batman, changes that need to be made, maybe profiles on Gotham citizens who are trying to make a difference themselves," He explains. "Would you be interested? I'd let you write and model if you wanted."

You'd think I'd learn by now that asking a lot of questions can often give people the impression that you're intrested or want to go along with whatever it is they're going on about. Despite loosing the claws and tails, I'm still as curious as a cat. And I just happen to be very interested in what he has to say. Maybe I was right to ask.

"What would _I _write about?" I ask in disbelief, even though the idea is already tickling my brain.

"I don't know, you've only been Catwoman, lived in an insane asylum, and been reformed," He lists dryly. "So?"

The thought has now moved from tickling to shinning on me like one of those cheesy light bulbs in a cartoon. I used to love writing when I was in high school and spent a good deal of time filling notebooks up with stories. I'd even spent three years on the school paper. That is before I got kicked off for using my press pass to free cats from a testing lab. That sure was an early sign of things to come.

"Well," I start, my practical side taking over. "_If_ I did want to join, we'd have one model, two writers, a photographer, and an editor. But what about funding?"

"That would be me as well. I'm not going to lie, as much as I hate it here, the paycheck isn't too skimpy," He speaks modestly, smiling a little. "I've also heard you happen to be canoodling with a _certain_ billionaire."

"He's my," I hesitate, trying to recall the correct label, "_boyfriend_, not my _wallet_. And...I'll think about it."

"Fantastic," he says with a grin.

"Yeah…so, what the hell is canoodling anyway?" I ask to a hoot of laughter.

It seems like I've been getting that reaction a lot lately.

* * *

**Hi guys, sorry for not making my deadline. I had it written before yesterday but this was originally supposed to have an extra scene to it. But as I was working on the second draft I realized the other scene had a tone change that was too dramatic to be the same chapter. So that will be the begining of the next one. Hopefully I can make that within the next 2 weeks, but no promises because I'm starting school on Wednesday. Wow, this is a looong note. PLEASE REVIEW :)**


	19. Money, Cuddling, and Pizza

**Hello one and all, I am glad to tell you that I am alive and well. For those of you that haven't entirely forgotten about this story and still care, I'm sorry, and I'm being honest. School started, got crazy and blah blah blah. This chapter is relatively short, but I will be working on the next one soon. I promise it will be soon, because Thanksgiving is around the corner and I'd like to write at least 1 if not 2 by then. While I have you here, I've been working on a Reign of Fire story (don't laugh) but I haven't posted it because it's dead over there. If anyone wants to read it, say so. Ok, I'm going to shut up now. **

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Whoever said you shouldn't open windows in the winter has never had me cook for them. Because Gotham's twenty degree weather can't even compete with the horrendous stench of burned chicken coming from my kitchen; aka my first attempt at dinner. I had no choice but to open the windows, allowing the smoke to billow out like a Victorian chimney. Bruce had laughed at me, pinching his nose, as he asked _again _if I'd rather go to the manor and have Alfred whip us up something. I ignored him while thumbing through the phone book, my other hand worked on dialing up Little Louie's. The family owned restaurant is one I've ordered from countless times and is conveniently right down the street. It also happens to cater to unique taste buds.

"I can't believe you can eat that," Bruce comments, looking over at my slice of pizza.

"Sardines are good for you," I say, picking one off. "Try one, there a lot tastier than you think."

"No thanks, I'll stick with cheese," He says, wiping some grease from his hands. "I didn't really expect you to feed me, let alone cook."

"I said come over because I have a hot dinner waiting for you. What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you were, I don't know, talking dirty or something," He answers, seeming slightly embarrassed. When I give him a puzzled look he shoots me one of his soul melting smiles. "Thank you, I _was_ hungry."

"No problem," I say casually, my plate empty so I pick at a seam on my jeans.

"Are you mad?"

"No," I say with a laugh, looking away from my lap to his face. "Why?"

"You seem a little uncomfortable," He observes, stretching his arm against the back of the couch. "Is there any reason you're sitting way over there?"

"Way over there" happens to be just on the other cushion of my sofa, where I plopped down to hand him a piece of my dinner fallback plan. I think it's funny that he questions _this_, the only thing about tonight that hasn't been calculated. Because I invited him over to my place so I could make him dinner. I wanted to make him dinner to make him happy. And I wanted him to be happy so he'd be in a good mood when I ask him if starting up this magazine sounded like a good idea…and ask if he could…act as a financier. Where I decided to rest my butt was completely random. And since when did sitting side-by-side constitute as "way over there"?

Despite feeling a little girly and sentimental, I reposition myself so our thighs are touching and rest my head against his chest. Along with sharing a bed and hugging, cuddling is another on the list of things that don't come naturally to me. My parents weren't very affectionate. I didn't think it was weird. It was as normal as the fact we hardly ever saw each other, even though we lived in an apartment equivalent to card board box. Small quarters, booze, and thin walls never should be mixed…ever.

"Relax," He soothes into my ear. "Are you nervous about something?"

I let out a long sigh, my chest rising into his and I'm surprised how this small action seems to calm me. There's a silence between us, the only sound coming from a few taxis whizzing down the road as one window still remains open. The street lights have flickered on and filter into my living room like a cozy metropolitan sunset. He kisses the crown of my head but it just makes me feel cheap. But I know that if I'm going to ask him at all I'd better do it now or I never will.

"The shoot went really well," I start simply. "We got some really good shots and Matt's already picked one for the cover. He's really has an eye for it, he can, like, pick out the best one in just a few seconds."

I pause, mentally scolding myself for that unnecessary "like"; a very rare nervous twitch that likes to sprout up at the worst times.

"When we were looking over today's film, we started talking, and he had this really great idea," I pause again, as if allowing a blank for him to question what _this_ is. But I can't believe I've forgotten how polite he is, he always lets me finish, no interruptions_._"He wants to start this new magazine up, about Gotham, you know, like, get into the nitty-gritty and highlight the city's good people. He wants me to work with him and help him start it up."

"Sounds interesting," He says like he means it.

"Yeah, I think I want to do it. I was uh, wondering if, um, you could…" I fumble for the right way to word my request.

When did asking him for money become so hard? I used to do it all the time, and most of_ those_ times the money went to funding some tools for a heist or paying some one off. But now when I have a legitimate need for it, my throat is closing up as if speaking my mind isn't something I'm not afraid to do.

"I was wondering if you could…pitch in a little, just to get us started. Matt is helping too but we need more," I explain, staring at the fabric of his dress shirt.

I can feel his breathing slow a bit and he runs a hand through my hair.

"That's it, that's what you were nervous about?" He asks, sounding concerned.

I nod into his chest and he chuckles.

"Of course I'll help out, it's just money," He says lightly. "Selina, you can always ask me for help, whenever."

"Thanks," I sigh with relief, kissing him lightly.

"And you don't need to butter me up by making me dinner either," He says, looking pleased at his understanding of the situation. "Or tell me you love me."

Whoa, what? I jerk my head up, wondering what he could possibly be talking about. When did I drop the "L" bomb?

"Were you not conscious on the phone the other night?" He asks, taking in my expression of bewilderment.

"Only somewhat," I answer, vaguely remembering something along those lines being spoken drowsily over the receiver. "But I promise it had nothing to do with this. I didn't even know about this then."

"Its fine," He assures me, smoothing over this discussion with a change of subject. "So, someone's birthday is next week. Do you know what you want to do?"

He's always been good at that. He can pick up a squirm-worthy conversation and toss it over his shoulder like a handful of salt. I can feel my joints noticeably loosen and I look at him.

"Not really. But nothing too big," I think aloud, and see him smirk. "No, no big party or stupid dance."

"I didn't say anything," he claims, still smiling.

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**Please, please review! I love reviews :) Also, tell me what you think about the Reign of Fire story; I'd like to know.**


	20. Birthday Favors

When I told him I didn't want some huge cheesy dance for my birthday, I didn't think that this would be the alternative. In the place of posh, well-dressed yuppies gliding across the ballroom of the manor is a crowd of gyrating bodies within the flashy nightclub. The overhead view from the plush VIP area may seem impressive to some, but watching them pound away on the translucent glowing floor is…well, boring. Four years ago I would be having a great time, I'd probably be that girl right there, the blonde hanging all over that guy, dancing in rhythm. And I did dance for a while when we got her, because, hell, I may be reformed, but I still like parts of the clubbing scene. I was having fun, but after about an hour, I decided to get a drink and take a break in the second floor roped off sitting area. Here, I stumbled into a strange conversation with an overly made up Italian chick about one of my museum heists she seemed very interested in. It wasn't actually that unusual, she is a Maroni after all. But I still didn't expect to spend my birthday here, lounging with one of the biggest mob families in Gotham. Then again, Bruce hadn't either.

"_So, where are we going?" I asked, watching him slide on a long-sleeved dress shirt by his bedroom closet. _

_I was beyond agitated at this point. It was nine o'clock and he hadn't given me a clue about our plans. The only thing I had to work with was that he had asked me to wear something sexy. So, I came over in a short lacy black dress that could honestly pass as a negligee, and matching pumps. He had seemed pleased with my attire, but he hadn't said anything else. _

"_Bruce," I groaned, and he…winced. That could not be a good sign._

"_Selina," he began hesitantly. "I know you're not going to like this, but…I need a favor."_

From there he explained that at the last minute he was informed of a nearly blistering lead about a record breaking Maroni heroine shipment. He told me that Batman needed more information, and that Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was the one to get it.

I can see he was completely right as his guise and name have given him an in. He's effortlessly melded with the group of greasy haired Maroni's, otherwise known as the club's owners. All of the men are dressed in Armani suits, many of them pin striped, and wear gaudy gold jewelry. They're stereotypes with pulses.

Fake, smarmy Bruce is mingling with them, every once and a while glancing at me over his disguised highball of soda water. He had been doing a lot of that earlier, when I was dancing. But, I'm not sure if he was worried, turned on, or playing up the act of keeping a predatory eye on his sticky-fingered, ditzy girlfriend. He's only fifteen or so feet away from me now, one hand leisurely in his pocket. One of Salvatore Maroni's daughters who's probably just out of high school steps towards him. Her black hair is in loose Victoria Secret catalogue waves and her metallic dress looks like its hiding balloons. She kisses his right cheek, then his left; a cultural greeting that I think she's using to her advantage. I'm pretty positive of this when she snakes an arm around his waist and slathers herself on him like heavy pizza sauce. I'm outta here!

With an itchy fist, I walk by a younger cluster of guys and out of the glass door onto the small, surprisingly bare balcony. The club's glaring decorations are missing, but I guess not many people come out here. I don't know why, the blue and silver skyline makes Gotham look shockingly uncorrupt. Altitude seems to be able to do that. There also happens to be about a 20 degree temperature drop and I really need it; stupid skank. Not that it really bothers me all that much. It's just an act. I just didn't feel like being in the audience.

A wave of sticky air dribbles from the door and I hear the basses' accompanying synthesizer along with the clank of heels against the concrete surface. I turn around to see Brandy and Sherry stumbling towards me. Both of them are pinched into what looks like scraps of glittered cloth, the essentials covered but little else. They're hair is slightly damp from dancing and they're lip gloss looks smeared.

"Have you seen Dick?" Brandy asks, sipping from a pink martini glass; Sherry's arm draped across her neck.

"Hey, Selina! Have you seen Dick anywhere?" Sherry squeals, apparently not hearing Brandy.

I know that Dick is working undercover, feigning interest in Maroni narcotics. I don't know why he decided to bring these two along, or where he is.

"Sorry," I say; shaking my head.

"Isn't it your birthday? Oh my gosh, it is your birthday isn't it?" Sherry gushes. "Happy birthday!"

Sherry enthusiastically hugs me, her gal pal getting slung in as well. I pat her back after a while, her baby prostitute brand of perfume putting me on the edge of losing what little I've had to eat tonight. Bruce and I ended up having to rush our dinner, we were running late, but it was pretty much my fault.

"Are you having a good time?" Sherry asks, though she's eyeing the door.

"Yeah," I kind of mumble, and Sherry smiles approvingly.

However, Brandy puffs a layered bang from in front of her eye and seems to be in deep concentration. "You don't look like it," She accuses, or really observes.

"I don't really want to be here," I confess, because really, they're so gone they probably won't even remember this tomorrow.

"Aw, that sucks. It's your birthday," Sherry whines sympathetically.

"Well, last year was worse. I got in a fight with a clown and spent the rest of the day chained to my bed," I say casually, referring to my argument with the Joker and later Arkham administered punishment.

"Don't we all," Brandy sighs, lifting her drink.

"I'm going back in, it's a little chilly out here," I tell them as I'm already walking back.

Once the door opens, the strobe lights nearly bite my corneas, music vibrates in my chest, and I'm feeling my extra year more than ever. But, I'm not even three steps in when Bruce grabs my elbow.

"Ready to go, babe?" he asks with a lazy smile, aware of us being watched.

"Of course I am, honey," I coo, and I catch Ms. Helium glaring from her brother's side.

XXXXX

"Alfred's busy?" I repeat, once I'm seated in the Batmobile. "He's too busy to pick us up?"

Bruce nods again, as he powers the monstrous thing up. Once we left the club, he had quickly walked me into the opposite direction of where Alfred dropped us off, and directed me to an alley three blocks away where his "car" was hiding.

"He had to run some errands, and by the time he was done he was on the other side of town," he explains.

"Why was the Batmobile here?" I ask, noticing his fist clench in his pocket because only one of his hands is on the steering wheel.

"It was here from before," he mutters, concentrating on the city streets. Yeah, right.

"Before when…"

"Selina, I'm feeling a migraine coming on," he grumbles, rubbing the side of his head.

So, I shut my mouth, even though I'm suspecting it's fake. At this point my ego is so bruised I don't even have the energy to take another verbal swing. I just lean back in the leather seat and close my eyes. The engine's thrumming reminds me of Christmas, and I make it a point to not fall asleep like last time. By the time I make myself open my eyes I see we're ironically back in the woods of Wayne property. I guess I'm staying the night, not that he asked or anything, ha, not that I would have said no.

I'm already fantasizing about those amazing sheets, and yeah, other stuff, when he takes a different left turn. The trees thicken around us until we run out of road and we stop. He clicks the engine off before letting out a long breath. Hmmm, dark woods, parked car, him being nervous, my birthday…are we about to do what I think we're about to do?

As if reading my brain waves, he turns to the window on his side. He must be teasing me. I mean, I don't know of many logical reasons to park in the woods, besides, well…having a little fun. So, I lean over the massive console and rest my hand on his thigh, slowly moving it up, up, up.

"Selina," he sighs with a chuckle, grasping my wrist.

"Yes?" I ask playfully, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"This isn't what I had in mind," he informs me, not returning my kiss. "I need…"

"Bruce, it's my birthday," I say, pouting a little and peck his jaw. "It's been forever."

"It was five hours ago," he laughs, and I scowl…well, he is telling the truth.

"_I feel like a jerk, having to ask you this on your birthday, but this Maroni lead needs to be dealt with now. I'm really sorry, Selina," he told me back in his bedroom, his shirt still open. "Afterwards I'm fully willing to grovel for as long as it takes."_

"_Grovel?" _

"_Beg, plead, bow down to you, the whole works," he spoke with desperation. "I know last year wasn't the best, and I had this whole thing planed. I…" _

"_How long do we have?" I asked curtly, I'm pretty sure starring at his chest._

"_About…thirty minutes or so," he said, checking the clock behind him that I was too distracted to pay attention to. "Why?"_

"_I think the groveling should start now."_

_He gave me a blank look._

"_On your knees," I suggested with a smirk. And the lights came on._

_With the slight pop of his overextended joints he was kneeling in front of me. He cupped the back of my calves with both hands and kissed the side of my knee. _

"Selina, I need to ask you something," he says, completely transitioned to serious Bruce.

"Okay."

"Are…" he begins, pauses, sighs. "Are you okay with this?"

"With what?"

"All of this," he says, appearing to gesture to the interior of the car.

"Are you telling me I'm getting my own Batmobile?" I ask, but he doesn't seem to be amused.

Instead he shifts in his seat and he's facing me.

"Are you okay with me being Batman?"

"Mostly," I admit, taking my turn to break eye contact. "Mostly I am."

I cough, even though I don't need to. "I'm still kind of afraid of him," I whisper; my rough exterior gritting its teeth for such a confession, my inner psychiatrist scolding me for saying "him" not "you", and my brain wondering when I suddenly got so many different personalities. "It was a lot worse when I first got out. But, after New Years, and the past few months, and the nightmares going away and…the photo shoot, well, I can say I'm definitely okay with it, I'm just not crazy about it yet. But, I'm getting there…in a good way of course."

I finish off my statement with a lighthearted smile and feel his hand on my arm.

"Nightmares?" he questions, his voice almost flinching.

"It's not a big deal," I mumble, very embarrassed. "I got over them."

He stares me in the eyes, probably doing one of his mysterious lie tests on me.

"When you said you loved me, before, on the phone, were you being serious?"

"Yes," I say honestly; because regardless of how out of it I was, I meant it, mean it.

His stern expression softens a bit as his thumb traces a circle on my skin, and I notice the other hand in his lap. In his opened palm is a small silver ring, a diamond in the center framed with emeralds, like his mother's bracelet.

I don't hesitate, I don't stutter, I just repeat my last answer.

**Yay, I made it before Thanksgiving! Please leave a review telling me what you thought of it, and I hope you have a good Thanksgiving :)**


	21. The Scene of Love

** A/N: It's finally here, the last chapter of the story...or at least I think so. I swear I'm not being self-deprecating, but honestly I feel the end to this chapter is cheesier than a ten cheese enchilada. I tried about three different ways to wrap up the chapter, and I landed on this one. I might do one more chapter if enough people want it. Merry Christmas!**

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Some men would prefer only to part with a sock drawer when their fiancé first moves in. Bruce purchased a brand new wardrobe that's apparently made from Brazilian Rosewood and smells faintly like the paneling from _Craze_…faintly. It's kind of gigantic, comes with a rotating shoe rack, and I pretty much love it. The doors don't creak, which is nice on nights like this when I get home so late; something that's been happening for the past few months as Matt and I havebeen swamped with _Clear _had picked the name _Clear _for our magazine, saying it fit with our openness about Gotham and not keeping anything hidden…or at least that's what I was able to make out after my fourth cup of coffee, his tenth cigarette, and both of us trudging through a stack of forty-seven modeling portfolios. And I thought Metropolis had all the uppity cocaine-glitzy girls.

Luckily, with some of our pooled connections, we were able to collect a manageable staff and through means I'm still a little fuzzy on, finished the first issue tonight. Matt suggested we all celebrate at the new retro eighties themed bar, "Relax." I told him to say hi to Frankie for me, but I had a fiancé who I hadn't seen in weeks. Matt had chuckled, thinking I was joking, but I literally have not seen Bruce awake in ten days. He gets up at some god-awful hour in the morning, like eight, and he's already at Wayne Enterprise by the time Alfred bribes me out of bed with breakfast at ten thirty. I get to work a little before noon and don't get back until two to three hours after midnight when Bruce has probably just slid into REM cycle.

If nothing else, my former Catwoman sleuthing has come in handy for quietly changing clothes. I don't even turn a light on, which I realize might be a problem tonight. Alfred said he was doing laundry, so I'm not sure what I have to wear. I grope around one of the many compartments of my wardrobe and not wanting to wake him up, settle on what feels like a silky camisole and shorts.

I noiselessly make it to bed and pull the covers up to my shoulders. But it's still noiseless, and I know that's not right. Alfred told me Bruce had recently had some sort of nasal injury and the evidence of the damage was very obvious in his louder than usual breathing the past few nights. I don't hear him at all. So, I crawl towards his side of the bed and reach for him. But, instead of warmth, I feel something hard and flat, like stacks of some sort of material.

I switch on his antique bedside lamp and see table cloth samples spewed across the comforter. He's not even here, it's twenty after three, and he is apparently still very active in planning mode.

I wince, not from stubbing my toe on the bedroom door, but in remembering our May 17th date is two weeks away. With the insanity of _Clear_, my help with the arrangements have been to stand next to him for our engagement photos and to convince him to let my cat, Bruce, be the ring bearer, because I don't want to disappoint his relatives who think I'm some cat-obsessed maniac. He and Alfred have done everything else, including a surprise they have for me that's more covert that the freakin' batcave.

I'm walking in that direction when I see the door of the study is wide open, and there's a small light on. Inside, I see a lot more. On the couch is Bruce sitting upright in full Batman gear…passed out asleep. I don't even know where to begin, but I'm very confused.

Stepping towards him as stealthy as possible, I am able to get close enough to see the suit is in one piece and no area of his body is bleeding; good sign. I lean in to his face until I can feel him breathing, which I can hear is noticeably quieter; another good sign. I look into the holes of the mask, at his shut eyelids, and for a second I'm on the top of some snow covered building in a leather catsuit switching my whip around. We'd been playing cat and mouse, or cat and bat, for weeks by then and I had gotten what I thought I wanted; Batman injured and semiconscious at my feet. I had knelt down, trailing a finger down the side of his face. I realize my hand is playing along with this delusion as one of my nails skims his chin. Underneath the spiked Gotham skyscrapers I had kissed him for the first time, Batman that is, and somehow that's when I knew who he was. My lips are softly pressed against his before I know it, but I more surprised by my next physical reaction. I don't feel anything. The smothering clammy fear from my dreams is gone, as is the electric twinge in my gut. I hear someone yawn from behind me; not a good sign.

I turn around to see Dick in nothing but a long black pair of pajama pants. My brain counts the many Catwoman jokes he could use, because even _I_ have to admit I practically walked into this one.

"He was waiting up for you," Dick whispers as he points to Bruce's still sleeping form before yawning again. "But, tonight was…intense. I _told _him he wouldn't be able to stay up."

There's a slight smile playing on his mouth as he crosses his arms over his chest, and I notice a large purple bruise covering his shoulder.

"I've had worse," he remarks when he sees me cringe. "A bank holdup that got a little out of hand. I'll just tell the girls it was from Rugby. By the way, how are Brandy and Sherry doing at _Clear_?"

"They photograph really well, and Brandy has only been late nine times," I comment a bit sarcastically, and he seems to give a knowing eye roll.

"I don't even know how many dinner reservations I've lost because of her. But, I promise she will not be late on the 17th," he assures me, and then pauses. "Is it okay if I bring Brandy and Sherry to the wedding?"

"If it's okay with them both going with you it is," I say, now used to them traveling as a threesome.

"Great," he sighs, brushing hair off his forehead. He scratches the back of his neck with his eyes down as he seems to be thinking over something. "Um, I know I'm about four months late, but I just wanted to say congratulations. And…I don't think it will be so bad having you…live here."

He starts to amble down the hall, but this is so unlike him that I can't just leave it at that and I quietly blurt, "Really?"

He looks me up and down, his Peter Pan smirk shinning brighter than Tinker Bell, and says, "as long as you wear those shorts more often."

My eyes squint in the reflex of annoyance, but before I can say anything I see a pillow fly past me and hit him right in the face.

I turn to the couch and see an unmasked Bruce dazedly gesturing for Dick to leave. When I look back to the door I see it worked; he's gone.

"When did you get back?" he asks with a scratchy overused voice.

"Around fifteen minutes ago," I reply and see him laboriously get up from the couch. "Are you okay?

"Yeah, just a little sore," he groans. "Did I hear something about Dick taking Brandy _and _Sherry to the wedding?"

"Yeah, I said it was fine. It is right?" I question, considering again how little I know about the specific plans.

"Uh, I'm just having a hard time keeping the guest list in order. It seems like there's always someone new to add," he explains, putting an arm around me.

"That's why we should elope," I half teasingly remind him, because I've said it over a million times. "I know you want me to wear your mother's dress, but what if I wear it _and_ we elope_ and_ we take Alfred?"

He appears to consider this, furrowing a brow before kissing me. This time I do feel the familiar acupuncture-like prickles down my legs and I fleetingly forget what we were even talking about.

"I want this to feel real," he whispers, and I'm collected enough to know he's talking about the formal ceremony he is insistent upon; it's what his parents would have wanted. I sigh, and notice him slightly squirm. "Sorry, I forgot how hot this thing can get. I'm going to go shower."

He places his hand on my lower back as we start walking out of the room, because we both know this isn't going to be agreed on tonight.

"How about a bath?" I suggest, and he cocks his head to the side.

"Do you want me to put the mask back on?"

"Batman in the tub; I don't think so," I tell him, deadpanned.

He simply shrugs.

**Here it is, please tell me what you think. Is this an okay ending? Also, I'm working on a Reign of Fire fic but I don't want to post it if no one will read it, so if you don't feel like leaving a review for this at least tell me if you are even slighlty interested in a Quinn/OC fic that I promise is not Mary Sue. Again, Merry Christmas!**


	22. Honeymoon Croon

**A/N: Because you guys wrote such great reviews and I felt I could write more for this, I decided to put up one more chapter. This is the final chapter, and it's very very random, but I really hope you guys like it. P.S. All of the home remedies I list are real and can be found on Google. Also, there's a mention of a "teddy" in this chapter, and I would like to clear up that I'm not talking about a teddy bear, it's a article of lingerie *blushes*. Yeah, just listen to Selina.**

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"Don't scratch."

My hand rebelliously reaches for the swollen skin, but Bruce loops his hand around my forearm. He sets the yellow plastic pharmaceutical bag down on the dresser and looks at me from the oval shaped mirror in front of us.

"Don't…scratch," he warns again, making it the fourth time in the three minutes we've been in our honeymoon suite.

"But they itch," I dumbly inform.

There's a sticky heat that breezes past us, like a blast from an opened shower curtain, and I'm wishing I could just jump back into the indoor pool from last night.

"Can you at least close that stupid window?" I ask, and he does so as he loosens his bow-tie. "What idiot left it like that anyway?"

"Maybe some crazy person who thought we'd like some fresh air," he remarks, resting his hands on my shoulders. "I hear they have a lot of it in Honolulu."

"Well, they also have a lot of _mosquitoes_," I say, moving away from his grasp to see the countless bites covering my back.

They look a little strange through the uncomfortable gauzy material that stretches from my lower back to my shoulders. This is just one of the many drawbacks of my hot, irritating, way too frilly wedding dress that once was his mother's and hasn't been worn since the mid 60s. After having to wear the thing, with its long sleeves, high neckline, and insufferably thick fabric that makes up most of the dress, I know why.

"At least they're not infected," he seems to assure me, referring to our lovely detour to the hospital.

"_You've got to be kidding me," Bruce exclaimed as I slumped against the invitingly cool surface of the waiting room chair._

"_No, I've never had a mosquito bite before," I muttered, observing the curious glances we were getting from the other patients. "And I don't see why we're here; they're just a couple of them."_

"_A couple?" he questioned indignantly. "You look like you have chickenpox, and we're here to make sure you don't have Wes Nile or anything." _

_I scanned the sparsely occupied waiting area; the green plastic chairs looked especially tacky underneath the blaring fluorescents. A pale chubby man with a bandaged arm smiled at me from the a few rows down. His teenage son was wearing a matching floral button-up as was the girl next to him who was giggling. A sleek red cell phone was clutched in her hand and I noticed too late that she was taking a picture of us. _

"_Mrs. Wayne," a petite woman in a lab coat announced. "Mrs. Selina Wayne."_

_Bruce nudged me and I realized that, that indeed was my name._

"_Yes," I answered, feeling ridiculous yet again in my formal wedding attire in the middle of a hospital._

"_Right this way," she instructed us, and we followed her to my second peep show of the day._

"This dress is like a huge butterfly net," I complain, walking to where my suitcase is propped up.

It's an old brown leather boxy thing that I used for the two rare family vacations from my childhood. A piece that was bought in a set of luggage already nicked and scraped from the Salvation Army. I fling it open, the familiar mothball smell even more apparent in the fresh, floral scented suite. I don't know if I really can call it a suite, considering it's more of a secluded villa and a good half hour drive from anything that isn't sand, tree, or ocean. We even have three bedrooms, which I consider a little unnecessary for a honeymoon suite, well, maybe not so much now.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asks with a chuckle, probably because I'm just staring inside my bag.

I make a vague noise of frustration as I pretend to be looking through my stuff. But despite my sorting, I've already remembered that the only clothing items I packed are bikinis, bathing suit cover-ups, and handful after handful of lingerie. Hawaii was Alfred and Bruce's planed surprise, which I was told only five minutes after our "I dos" and my excitement clouded any discernment in packing. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me strip for the third time today, no matter how freakin' uncomfortable this dress is.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I answer, albeit a few minutes later, and storm past him.

I feel his hand rest on my elbow and I give him a glare that could have some questioning how I was ever released from Arkham.

"Bathroom is _that _way," he says as peacefully as ever in spite of my sour mood; grr.

I dismissively nod and turn in the direction he pointed.

The handle of the door is a gold massive sphere and once I open the door I realize the entire room appears to be fit for an underwater god. Seaside objects are crafted into the shape of the sink, soap, bathtub, and even toilet. It seems somewhat overdone for me, but so is a honeymoon in Hawaii. Not that I'm complaining about _that_, because I love hot weather and the beach and I've always wanted to go here. I am, however, complaining about the supposedly chickenpox-like markings on my back. They aren't _that_ bad.

I unzip the top of the dress to get a better look and I'm reminded of our limo ride from our spontaneous beach detour on the way to the suite.

"_The sunset was beautiful," Bruce gushed with a glowing grin on his face, sitting next to me. _

"_Yeah," I tried to respond convincingly, but my skin felt like it was on fire. "It was great."_

"_Better than great; it was breathtaking!"_

"_Sure," I said as I twisted my arm back to feel…large bumps. _

_Without thinking, I yanked the zipper, then the top of the dress down to my waist._

"_Damn!" Bruce gasped lustfully, and I realized he was staring at the top of my barely black, mostly see-through teddy with small etched bat designs._

"_There's something wrong with me," I may have shrieked a little, before shifting to face the tinted window._

"_Damn," he said again, touching my sore back._

There's a soft knock on the door.

"The doctor said we should try this stuff as soon as possible, otherwise they'll be driving you crazy for the rest of the trip," Bruce spoke gently, and yeah, I know he's right.

I glance at my reflection one more time. Knowing that I don't really have any other alternative, I finish removing my dress. Now I'm not wearing much of anything, but it's not like that's new to him.

I finger a lose thread on the sheer fabric, mentally counting the tiny bats; thirteen, three of which are strategically placed. This thing looks stupid, it was a joke.

"Selina," I hear him call, now further away.

Not waiting any longer I open the door and casually walk out. Bruce is in a pair of athletic shorts, hunched over his new laptop now set on the king sized bed. The overhead lights have been turned off with only a few lamps and his computer adding a cozy illumination. The cream paint on the walls now seems better fitted as do the bright flowers on the nightstand.

"I found some home remedies on-line," he explains, busy at his keyboard. "Lie down."

"Fine," I say; a little hurt he hasn't even looked at me.

But I settle on top of the comforter with my stomach, elbows, and thighs resting against the soft material. Out of habit I leave my knees bent with my feet up.

"So, we know you're allergic not only to mosquitoes but to calamine lotion, and the stuff the doctor gave you didn't work…"

"The aloe didn't do anything either," I mumble.

"Maybe we should try the prescription again," he suggests as he continues to scroll down.

"No, it made it itchier."

"Well, everything else on this list we'd have to go to the store to buy; ammonia, bleach, rubbing alcohol, um…" he begins to trail off. He's staring at me.

"What?" I ask as innocently as possible with my foot curled less than an inch away from my shoulder blade in another futile attempt to scratch.

His face in absolutely untranslatable, though there's an intense glimmer in his eye, and I'm half expecting him to give up entirely. Instead he grabs the foot in offense and gently lowers it to the bed.

"Miss Contortionist," he says playfully, using the weight of his body to ease my other limbs down flat, otherwise pinning me.

I squirm.

"There's something else I can try," he whispers, his breath on my spine.

He removes his hold on one of my arms. I try to reach back yet again but he's on it before I can even flex a finger.

"I'm going to need one of my hands," he informs me. "Unless, you just want me to spit on you."

"What!"

"Saliva," he says in a hush, now by my ear, "Is on the list."

"Gross," I murmur, but I shiver just considering a less disgusting alternative.

"Okay," he sighs, seemingly able to read me.

He's still for a moment before I feel his mouth on my neck; a kiss. His weight shifts, his mouth opens, his tongue is warm.

"Better?" he asks, and even though I'm not sure, I nod slowly into the mattress.

His chest slides against my lower back as his treatment continues.

I squirm.

"Okay," he exhales, and his hand slinks between the blanket and my stomach.

"Better?"

"Damn," I groan.

* * *

**Pretty please leave a review! And in the spirit of self promotion, I would like to say the first chapter of my Reign of Fire story is up...hanging out alone. Again, please review!**


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